


Code Frisk

by AveragePotato, licoricebrightwater



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: 1940s, Alcoholic Sans (Undertale), Alternate Universe, Determination Experiments (Undertale), Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Frisk (Undertale) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Frisk Has Nightmares (Undertale), Frisk Is A Precious Bean, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Medical Trauma, Moral Ambiguity, Recreational Drug Use, Sans (Undertale) Has Issues, Sans (Undertale) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Sans Is Allergic To Good Life Choices, Soft Chara, Underage Drinking, Worried Papyrus (Undertale), non-human Frisk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 30,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AveragePotato/pseuds/AveragePotato, https://archiveofourown.org/users/licoricebrightwater/pseuds/licoricebrightwater
Summary: Most people would have gone for help.Most people would have dropped and prayed.Most people would have turned and ran.Sans was not most people.In a city where crime is commonplace and danger abounds, one should always stay alert and on their toes. On one moonlit night, Sans, a jaded mercenary with too many vices and a chip on his shoulder, gets a little too curious for his own good, and now his whole life gets flipped upside down.As it turns out, sometimes there's a very good reason to be afraid of the dark.
Relationships: Chara/Papyrus, Frisk/Sans
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	1. Revamped

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


It was a beautiful day outside. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming. Maybe if he kept telling himself that, he would finally believe it. Sans leaned tiredly against the warped wooden wall of his kitchen, staring down at his hastily tossed on slippers as the phone rang for the twelfth time. He let out a weary sigh and gradually wrapped his phalanges around the cord, getting it tangled in his hand. It rang and rang, but there was still no answer. He couldn't necessarily say that he was altogether surprised. After the last shouting match they had gotten into, he would still be angry at him, too. When Papyrus still didn't pick up the phone when it rang at tone number twenty-five, he finally hung it up on the wall and pinched the bridge of his nostril bone, trying to keep his raging headache under control. It was really his fault in the first place. He shouldn't have told his brother off like that just for getting a dangerous job like police work without telling him; but still, he  _ deserved _ the right to know, didn't he?

He pulled a beer out of the banged up refrigerator and kicked the door closed, the buzzing and flickering light above starting to dim before finally blowing again. He sighed for the umpteenth time and shrugged, popping the top and taking a long swig. He'd fix the lightbulb tomorrow. He should have figured, it was just his luck. Then he reopened the refrigerator and did a quick double take, blinking a couple of times. 

"Son of a bitch," he grumbled, scowling deeply. He hadn't realized that he was almost out of booze. It was already getting to be pretty late, according to the second hand cheesy cat clock hanging above the doorway to the kitchen, smiling down on him in front of the peeling wallpaper. He swiftly chugged the rest of the cheap swill and tossed the glass bottle in the trash with a couple of others. He still had a few bucks left, might as well waste them on some good old fashioned memory erasers.

So, he  donned his black leather jacket with the patched elbows, lit a cigarette as he stepped out the door of his apartment, and locked the door behind him. Not that it would do much good, nobody bothered raiding such a broken down old dump like this anyway, but it was an additional sense of security, and after some of the last jobs that he'd had any sort of security was welcome. Of course, his newest job wasn't exactly something he was proud of, hence all the alcohol. That was his current excuse, anyway. 

Sans walked the empty hall and watched as a large, fat cockroach squirreled away down the hall beside him, stopping along with its antennae twitching. "Yeah, how ya doin', Chuck," he greeted the bug with a yawn. "Watch my shit 'til I get back, m'kay?"

Of course, the roach didn't say anything at all, because it was a bug. 

He made his way steadily down the stairway and made sure not to touch the rails. Some wise guy decided it was a bright idea to stick gum all over  those things, and as far as practical jokes went, he would have been fine with it if he hadn't been the one to fall for it. He only wished that the cheap apartment complex at least had an elevator or something, it would have made these little late night trips a bit easier on him. He shook his head and kept walking on down the near deserted place, watching as some armless monster kid kicking a ball back and forth contentedly in the hall spotted him and immediately darted back into their doorway, kicking the door shut in panic. That was fine with Sans. Certainly wasn't the first time it had happened, probably wouldn't be the last. Most people didn't like the sight of an oncoming skeleton anyway. Something about 'bad omens', but it didn't bother him nearly as much as it used to. He preferred to be  left to his own devices, so he could just continue to pretend that he didn't care. 

"Hey sugar," Sans grinned a bit wider when he saw the bunny monster sitting bored behind the check in desk, magazine in one hand, the front ushering in the forties as a new age of peace, prosperity and  other such fluffy bullshit. "You miss this handsome mug?" 

"Honey, I want you around like I want the clap," she responded without even bothering to look up from her magazine. "So yer tellin' me you plan on sharin' me with as many people as ya can, right?" She replied with a single middle finger and Sans just chuckled, turning on the spot and meandering out the large heavy wooden front door, taking a long deep breath of the crisp, cold night air. It was a good evening for a walk. He could use a bite.

Sans felt a momentary bit of peace before the sounds of Under City hit him all at once. The scent of gasoline and ozone filling the air, the honking of horns of bypassing vehicles and swearing passengers.  _ No place like home. _ He kept up a slow but steady walk to the local gas station. The pub was a bit further and he'd rather head there instead, but he really wasn't in the mood to be interrogated by Grillby as to why he still hadn't paid his tab yet. That guy had a way of making him sweat nervously whenever he wanted to. So he kept up his tired meandering down the cracked pavement under the lamplight, hands in his pockets. He may have looked lax and comfortable, but to anyone that knew him well it was all a ruse. He fingered his old silver revolver in one jacket pocket, the ivory handle well worn. It wasn't wise for anyone to be out at night in this particular neighborhood, especially for a monster, but he could hold his own if he needed to. Besides, he  _ needed _ that booze, and if anyone was going to come between him and his liquor it would be the last mistake they ever made.

Flashing lights of bypassing vehicles nearly blinded him, leaving dancing  spots in his eye sockets. He resisted the urge to rub his face and  instead kept a tighter grip on his revolver. He got the creeping sensation that he was being  _ watched _ , but there was nobody behind him when he checked. As a matter of fact, he'd rarely ever seen the street this empty, there was  practically nobody out at all, only a couple of bypassing monsters in a hurry to stay away from him. No humans, which was no surprise. It was almost an entirely monster-based slum, after all. 

And he would have just left it at that and pushed it all to the back of his mind,  if he hadn't heard the scream. 

He would be lying if he said he hadn't considered just ignoring it, sticking your head where it wasn't invited was a good way to lose it in, and he would know wouldn't he? After all, how many times had he been the headsman?  _ But you promised Papyrus. _ With an agitated sigh, he ambled towards where he heard the scream, his neck aching and his tongue dry: he hated this, he hated every second of this. The skeleton pushed his way past people who were in a hurry to be not here. People that were smart enough to ignore a cry for help and mind their own business. But no, he just  _ had  _ to go and get involved.

If he was lucky it would just be someone's cat. 

Of course, sounds like that were common, especially in a neighborhood like his. Sometimes people got robbed. Sometimes people got hurt. Sometimes people went missing. But in a mostly monster populated downtrodden place like this, that kind of thing was commonplace. Assistance was rare, untrusted and usually unfounded. So, could he really have been blamed if he had just kept on walking? Maybe he could have just brushed it all under the rug. Possibly even ignored it all and avoided so much frustration and fear and heartache. But, no, he just  _ had _ to go and stick his big dumb head down that alley.

He was just in time to see three men, they were large and wearing white jackets and pants, with a black shield on their back and a fist on top of it. In front of them was a reptilian monster looking down at her chest in shock at the knife buried in it. She had just enough time to register what had happened before her body broke apart, her dust wafting across the trio, undetectable thanks to their colour scheme. Fucking Guardians of Humanity. The gun cleared its holster and Sans thumbed the hammer, making the three Guardians stiffen at the telltale _click._ Then as one they turned, staring at Sans with those creepy skull-white masks, with black crescent smiles painted on that was just unnerving. Fucking weirdos.

"Now, unless I miss'd my guess, that gal aint comin' back for her clothes." Sans noted with false cheerfulness, gun still free and pointed at the ground, but his finger was on the trigger. The woman's shirt was still pinned to the wall behind them, but the rest of her clothes were on a pile on the ground. The police would call this a 'victimless crime' in that there was no proof that someone was killed here; no blood, no evidence, no sign of a struggle. Fucking pricks.

"You best keep on walkin'," one of the men spoke up, a guttural rasp of a tone like rocks on sandpaper. "Unless you wanna wind up like one a these red light  _ whores _ , so keep walkin'.  _ Boy. _ "

Sans took a deep, steady breath through his nostril bone, his unnaturally stretched smile growing wider. "Shouldn't have brought knives to a gunfight," Sans clicked the gun's hammer back, and would have gladly dealt with the consequences; at least, were it not for the sudden and violent bludgeoning to the back of the head he'd received, knocking him clean to the ground and sending his silver hand cannon skittering across the pavement. Pain and panic mingled with dread as his soul dropped into the pit of his stomach. He struggled to grab his gun but one of the goons stomped on his wrist and he screamed, but not louder than the vicious _crack_ as his bone snapped. Marrow leaked from his arm and he tasted dust in his mouth, one of the hooded hooligans was cackling with the barrel of the gun pointed right as his head, he was surrounded on all sides and attempted to hurl himself at the one with the gun in one last ditch effort to save himself but was only thrown to the ground once again. His head hit the pavement and he saw stars, he knew that he was going to die here, he _knew_ it was over and he wished and begged and prayed that he would have just kept walking and all he wanted was a _goddamn_ _drink_ \- 

And all of a sudden, the one with the gun was just...  _ gone. _

Sans blinked blearily, straining against gravity as another one of the goons shouted something incomprehensible as he was ripped upwards and into the air, right up the wall. He heard the sound of screaming and ripping, tearing flesh, saw the splattering of blood raining down, and then a couple of bodies hitting the ground. Before he knew it another one met the same fate, leaving the single member of the Guardians of Humanity standing quaking in his white dust stained clothing. He at least had the good sense to bolt, and Sans didn't blame him. He struggled to grab his gun and put one into the back of that filthy no good murderer, but his vision was swimming so badly that he was seeing three more of the guy, his arms feeling too heavy for him to hold up the pistol for any longer than a couple of moments. Sans doubted that he was even going to see the morning, and all things considered, maybe that wasn't so bad. At least that meant his terrible headache would end. 

  
  


He wasn't sure when or how, but he found himself woozily pushed against the  dirty alley wall, sitting and tilting from side to side. Sans blinked heavily a couple of times and mumbled a weary thanks to his unseen savior, unsure of who that monster might have even been. They  were short, very short, they couldn't have been even half the height of those Guardians, and yet they tore through them like wet paper. He would have liked to give them a proper thanks if his tongue worked properly, and the fear of facing his imminent dusting felt so close that he could almost taste it. 

Whoever this  monster was, he needed to buy them a drink. 

They even drew out his soul, they must have been trying to heal him or something, such a rare act of compassion was rarely seen by monsters here.

There was a small problem there, being that the one drawing his soul out wasn't a monster at all.  He saw red, and not just from that... STUFF that was burning on him, but rather a bright glowing red pulsating from... a human? Humans didn’t have neon red eyes, right? Gods they were so goddamn BRIGHT! His mind, dulled by pain and confusion couldn't really pull together what should have been an easy answer, so he just stared, as the human studied his soul. Then they leaned down, and Sans felt... good? So Sans would be the first to admit that he was a functional alcoholic, as well as a pack-a-day smoker, and partook in recreational weed. And if you had all of those put together, plus a bottle of ketchup and foot massage, that wouldn't come to even have as pleasurable as he was feeling now. He felt like he was floating on a cloud, the throbbing, pulsating, PIERCING pain was just... was just gone. He wanted this to last forever, this bizarre and alien sense of peace, a calm tranquility that he could never remember ever feeling, even at his most intoxicated. But all at once, it stopped and the sensation was not unlike being dragged from a hot sauna and thrown into a pool of ice water. Sans inhaled violently and shot up, gasping and clutching his chest, his body quivering as if he was cold yet his bones were slick with sweat. Memories of what had happened, The GOH goons, smashing his head, his wrist, the burning on his face, the gun, the...  _ red.  _ And unsurprisingly, Sans had quite a few more questions than he did answers.

It took the short skeleton a few seconds of racing thoughts to notice that he had been patting himself down with both hands, and examined his wrist... it was fully recovered, sure there were a few hairline cracks but nothing that wouldn't be fixed with some food and a nap. His hands slid up to his skull and he touched the back, no cracks where he had been hit... and his eye... his socket was still in perfect condition and his eyelight undamaged. What... in all the hells? Not finding any answers on his immediate person, Sans glanced around the area, and froze at what he saw: blood. One human was slumped to the ground, the skeleton's gun laying in his limp fingers, whatever had hit him had done so with such speed and ferocity that he hadn't even managed a panicked shot. His chest was ripped wide open, and his head was lulled to the side, half of his throat torn clean out. Next to him was a guy with an arm broken and face frozen in unbridled terror, his throat too was ripped to shreds, and the third guy had... had someone on top of him. It was a scrawny kid, with ghoulishly pale skin and unkept brown hair, clutching at his body and making slurping sounds.

He had heardof these things, though like most in Ebott he hadn't actually seen one, or if he had, he didn't know... until now. Leftovers from the war, a perfect example of why super soldier programs were a stupid idea at best, and disastrous at worst, since they couldn't be controlled if they didn't want to be. Revenants. The eyes gave it all away, you could always tell by the eyes. Even years after the Dust War, those… _things_ were still feared. Catchy name, these were maybe once humans who had undergone some sort of experimental process of some kind - the details were never disclosed - that made them into something not-human but also not-monster, though by all descriptions they sure as hell sounded like monsters to Sans. They possessed the ability to regenerate, were far faster and stronger than humans could ever hope to be, and worst of all: could do some sort of... thing that mimicked magic. That explained some of the kills here. Speed, strength and durability that surpassed a human, and pseudo magic? Sans took it back, those sounded more like demons. But there had been a downside, a grave one: they _craved_ human blood for some reason, something that was in it they needed and so preyed upon humans, or if they were desperate enough, monsters. This was barely sustainable during the war and afterward? Well these Revenants were not stupid enough as to turn up for role call and went to ground. But... wait, the war was over a decade and a half ago, but this kid looked to be barely more than eight. That... that wasn't possible. Revenants couldn't reproduce could they? Weren’t they all some sterile genetic freakshows that looked like giant nightmares or something? God he didn't remember, the skeleton shifted slowly, but in doing so his shoes scraped against the ground, making the revenant freeze. _Shit._ They dropped the man and stood, turning back to face him, Sans' soul jumping into his throat. 

Red.Beautiful sunset red eyes, shimmering with a strange innocent honesty, and for a reason the skeleton couldn't understand, he felt almost at ease looking into them. Despite her body being splattered in blood, blood dripping from both hands and running down the corner of her cheeks, Sans didn't feel afraid, he just... he just _KNEW_ they wouldn't hurt him. How the fuck did he know that? 

"Ah...  you okay kiddo?" He inquired, surprising himself with his own casualness as he stood, brushing his legs off, the child nodded, and wiped their mouth with the back of their arm.  Then again, maybe it was the concussion talking.

  
  


She wasn't dressed in much, just the ugly pale-green long shirt that they gave hospital patients, but now soaked with blood, she didn't even have any shoes. The glow in her eyes began to dampen until it snuffed out entirely, leaving her with two cute chocolate eyes that even now, didn't have a hint of malice. Fucking hell he had  _ questions _ , so many fucking questions. Fortunately, the more sensible part of the short skeleton's mind kicked in, reminding him that he was a monster standing amidst a pile of decimated human corpses. He could NOT be caught here! Acting fast he grabbed the gun  from the dead guy's hand and stuffed it back into his holster and turned to leave. He knew a bad situation when he saw one, and he needed to bail, booze or no, but-

_The girl._

Sans turned back, she was soaked in blood and gore, he couldn't take her like this, there had to be something... something... 

His eyes fell on the dead monster's clothes, and the skeleton grimaced. Her dust hadn't even settled yet but beggars and choosers and all that, b'sides; the kid had avenged her, right? With that flimsy justification, Sans hopped between the pools of blood over to the pile of clothes, yanking the knife free and tossing it into the  purse, gathering the pile up and returning to the kid. "A'right kiddo, gonna need ya ta raise yer arms up." Sans didn't pause to ponder why the little revenant did as instructed, hoisting both arms into the air and letting him pull her shirt off, then her pants - the hell, she wasn't wearing pants, just that dirty hospital gown,where had she even come from? Was she some kind of escaped ward patient? He didn't have time to take a good look at the little girl - not that he wanted to - and instead bundled the shirt and pants up into a ball and used it to wipe her face and arms clean of blood, or as clean as he could get, and then threw the bundle away in a nearby dumpster. The girl's green shirt didn't fit all that well, neither did the pants, but it was better than nothing.

"Okay, let's go." He grabbed her hand and as casually as he could, left the alley. No monsters would call the cops, none of them would want to be associated in any capacity with this, so Sans was confident that he had an hour or two before any human went looking around. Even then, if it was a human from the slums, odds were decent that they still wouldn't call the cops, since slum humans tended to ally themselves with the monsters. 

_Chuck_ _aint never gonna b'lieve this._

The trip back to the apartment was almost disappointingly uneventful, nobody spared a glance for the disheveled-looking monster leading a grubby human kid with a purse into a run down apartment building. They probably thought all sorts of nasty things were going to happen, or (more likely) didn't give a shit. Good ol' Under City and its citizen's motto: Not my shit, not my problem. Just imagine what could be accomplished if they could somehow harness that apathy? The possibilities were goddamn endless. They'd be on the fucking moon by now for sure! The skeleton snorted as they went up the stairs, the tiny human... rather, human looking revenant toddling beside him, patient and quiet, somehow only adding to the strangeness of the situation. He really should have left them behind, dragging them with him like this was  _ stupid  _ as hell and a huge liability, but at the same time, even the idea of abandoning the kid made Sans' teeth grind and filled his soul with anxiety and anger. There was no way he was just going to abandon a kid in an alleyway with a bunch of dead bodies, not when those corpses were of the GoH. Those guys tended to hold grudges. She wouldn’t last a day.

"Fuck fuck fuckity fuck," Sans tried not to shout as he dug for his key, eventually throwing the door open. It was hard to see out of his left eye socket for some reason, like the whole world was just a little bit blurrier, but also much  _ clearer _ somehow, and the dissonance was throwing him off. Just how badly had that jackass cracked him in the back of the head? And more importantly, why wasn't he  _ dead _ ? The human - or rather, the human looking  _ revenant _ \- had done magic, or imitation magic, or  _ something _ to his soul. And the fact that he didn't know exactly what it was freaked him right the hell out.

He slammed and locked the door behind them, sweating bullets as he stumbled and reached around for the light switch. It flickered and buzzed, the cheap fluorescent bare lightbulb dangling from the ceiling almost going out, but thankfully clicked to life after a few moments. His breathing was labored and heavy and he shakily rubbed the back of his head; he could swear he could _feel_ the crack where he had been bludgeoned, but there was nothing there. And the revenant, the kid, _whatever_ they were - they just stood there and stared at him, arms hanging limply by their sides, as if awaiting some order or direction, just _staring_. It was downright creepy. 

"A'ight," Sans said after a few moments, leaning hard against the thick wooden door, a breath of relief at at least being in the relative safety of his own home finally starting to sink in. "I got some _questions_." 

The girl tilted her head curiously, it took a considerable amount of willpower not to think of her as a cat of some sort. She hadn't said much... no scratch that, ANYTHING since they had encountered each other, yet he just... he just  _ KNEW _ that she was the reason he was still alive. "Okay... okay... okay..." the skeleton turned and put the locks on the door, which consisted of a deadbolt, a chain, and a regular lock, no way in absolute HELL he was going to take any chances. In retrospect, it was probably a good thing that the siren's call of the fridge lured him away to grab a beer or whiskey or whatever the hell was still left in there; interrogating the kid in the doorway was not a good idea. Yet still, the child toddled behind him, not asking questions or making demands, migrating into the localized social warfare zone that was his living room, and sat on the sofa. Sans retrieved a large glass, some ice cubes and brandy and returned to the kid, flopping down into his sitting chair and filling the glass, only to promptly drain it. He repeated this cycle two more times, until his breathing was more steady and he could at least focus a little. "...What... What's yer name?" He began, starting small, he couldn't keep calling them 'kid' all the time, right? The child lifted their arm, revealing a metal bracelet that Sans had seen when stripping them, but hadn't examined further. With a sigh he made a 'come here' gesture with one hand, and so the girl hopped off the couch and hurried over, offering her arm for him to examine. The bracelet was closed with a wing nut, and had the word "FRISK" inscribed on it, along with a serial number. For some reason, that made his bones prickle and his marrow cool uncomfortably. Fortunately the kid - Frisk, didn't protest as he gripped the wing nut and twisted. It was stiff and stubborn, but with a silent grind from disuse, slowly gave away and released the screw.

Sans released the bracelet and stuffed it in his pocket - for later, that serial number had to mean something, and he was going to find out what. 

"A'right... now, what'd... what'd you do ta me in that alleyway, uh... Frisk, right?" She nodded with a slight smile that made Sans' soul flutter for some reason, and lifted her palms as if cradling something in front of his chest, and  _ dragged _ them back, drawing his soul out. Humans couldn't do that, only monsters could do that, but he KNEW this kid wasn't a human so why did this still surprise him? His soul looked...  _ wrong _ . There was no other way to describe it; just WRONG! There was a red puddle in the center of the otherwise snowy white field that made up his soul, but it was one that had taken on the vague shape of a heart. Almost... almost like a.... Sans felt his bones turn to ice, and couldn't raise his voice to stop the girl from cupping her own chest and drawing her soul out, like she was trying to show him something. It was actually painful to look at, even if one disregarded the upside-down heart-shaped splotch of white in the center. The rest of the soul had little cracks in it, chips missing from the sides and it just looked... worn, as if it had been pulled apart and stitched back together, but some of the pieces were lost  along the way. 

But he couldn't ignore the white monster soul-shaped mark in the middle  anymore than he could the red human soul-shaped one in his. A soul bond, a goddamn  _ soul  _ bond, there was nothing more binding than a soul bond, and so it was only ever entered into with great care and consideration. Between lovers. And now, Sans Skeleton had a soul bond with a little revenant. 

_ Oh my god I am so screwed. _

He forewent the glass and just tipped the entire bottle into his mouth.

"I had _some_ questions before," Sans muttered drunkenly, leaning back and letting his head hit the back of the chair. "I've got a _fuckton_ more now." Of course, she still said nothing, just standing there, waiting. It was creepy as all hell. "Okay," he leaned forward after a moment, the booze hitting him all at once. He rubbed his face wearily with trembling hands and tried not to think about just how utterly boned he was. "Okay, kid. Frisk. Fuckin'... _whatever_ you are. Take a seat, pal." 

"Where do you want me to take it?" 

Sans just stared at her for a second before barking out a rough laugh. 

"Jokes," he rubbed the back of his head, still expecting to feel a crack and that strange dissonance rearing up again. "Yeh. Yeah, okay. I'm just gonna pretend I didn't see ya rip some people's throats out and ask ya some questions. A'ight?" 

"A'ight," she iterated in an imitation of his tone, still standing before him. He eventually shook his head and patted the seat beside him, and she clambered up onto the worn hand-me-down couch from his brother.

Her voice was chirpy and sweet, and the way she somewhat slurred and stumbled over some words only made her more endearing, which was quite the feat considering that not a half-hour earlier he had seen the kid rip through GOH's like scissors through tissue. 

"...So uh... you clearly ain’t much of a talker bud, but I'm gonna need ya ta help fill in a few blanks fer me, a'ight?" Frisk nodded, repeating his 'a'ight' with that same innocent sing-song tone, "Kay so... what... what did ya DO ta me?" he gestured to himself. He was half-afraid that the kid wouldn't know how to answer or, if they did, would lack the vocabulary to properly and satisfyingly explain things.

"You...looked hurt," She explained, "Bad men in white hurt you, they're not nice. So... I made you unhurt." Fuck, well that just raised more questions, and confirmed his fears; he'd have to break the questions off into bite-sized pieces.

"Made me 'unhurt', m'kay," Sans wiped a hand down his face, blowing a heavy breath through his teeth. His growing headache wasn't helping matters in the slightest. He was definitely going to be hungover in the morning, and chased that thought away with another swig. And after  _ just _ feeling such a wonderfully blissful release from so much pain, having any at all felt a little like physical sacrilege. "And, uh,  _ how _ exactly did ya do that, Frisk?" Frisk made a motion with their shoulders in an 'I dunno' kind of expression. So much for that.

"Do ya know where you are?" Sans asked after a stretch of silence. They shrugged again. "Okay, how about  _ when _ you are?" Another shrug. "Do you know  _ anything _ other than your name?" 

"I know lots!" she chirruped. "I know when I'm hungry. I know how much I need to eat when I'm hungry. I know how hungry I can get before I start passing out-"

"Okay, okay, a'ight," he held up a hand to halt them. "How about where ya came from?"

"Oh, that's easy," Frisk nodded a couple of times. "The sewer!"

Sans suddenly inched away from them, mildly disgusted. And the nasty little disease bag was sitting on his  _ couch _ .

"Why the hell were you in the  _ sewer _ ." 

"That's where smiley face throws the trash," they answered without even pausing, only furthering his confusion. "And I don't work right, so that's where I got thrown out." Sans wasn't entirely sure who - or what - 'smiley face' was supposed to be, or who would be so callous as to throw a child into the sewer, or what in the actual hell a revenant was doing feeding off of victims years after they were supposed to have been hunted to extinction, or why this one was so small; he had very few answers, and the questions just kept piling up. And the more he thought about it, the more and more his left eye socket just itched and burned, it hurt and seethed and ached like never before. It was starting to make tears well in his sockets and he had to wipe his face with his jacket sleeve, struggling to maintain his breathing at an adequate level so as not to freak out the kid. Then again, he had just watched her literally rip several human men to shreds, so they likely wouldn't be all that bothered, so he didn't entirely know why he cared.

"Okay, pal..." Sans wished that he had simply continued on his way to pick up more booze. It would have made his life so much simpler. But instead he took another long drought from the brandy bottle, swirling the liquor around and around. "You know how old you are?" Frisk counted on her fingers for a few seconds before holding up both hands. "Fuck. Okay," he blinked, thoroughly more upset with each passing moment. "Why in the  _ fuck _ did ya think it was a good idea to  _ soul bond _ with a total goddamn stranger?"

"What does that mean?" Frisk asked, kicking their little legs back and forth.

"... Oh my god Paps is gonna  _ kill  _ me," he  _ thunked _ the bottle against his head. “He’s going to actually  _ kill  _ me.”

"Is Paps a food?" Frisk asked inquisitively, eyes widening a little. "I'm still hungry." 

"Papyrus is  _ not _ food," he growled deeply at them, but he might as well have been speaking Greek for all the good it did, as it certainly didn't seem to intimidate her at all. "He is my brother and my best friend, and if ya even  _ think _ about sinkin' yer dirty little claws into my bro, I'll beat your ass so red you'll make crimson jealous.  _ Got _ that?" 

"Okay!" Frisk just kept kicking their legs, bouncing off of the couch cushions like they couldn't be bothered less. It was a little frustrating that his intimidation tactics didn't seem to phase her even in the slightest, but he was both too drunk and too tired at this point to really care.

"Alright. A'ight," he mumbled again and again, still trying to get over the shock. He threw a worried glance back at the triple locked door, his nerves starting to get the best of him. He dipped a trembling hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and tossing the lighter back into his pocket. "Fuck, man. D'you even know what ya  _ are _ ?" 

"Of course!" she chirruped again in that sweet little tone. "I'm Frisk!" 

"Fan-fuckin'-tastic," he resisted the urge to rub his temples, taking another swig of brandy and chasing his vice with a long drag of cancerous addiction. "So, in twenty minutes we got a handful o' dead humans, a ten year old revenant, a godsdamned  _ soul bond _ , and worst of all," Sans's groaned, "I'm outta  _ booze _ . So, did I miss anything?" 

"You also smell funny," Frisk added without hesitation.

Sans smacked the brandy bottle against his forehead again, eliciting both a myriad of hollow thunks and a tiny giggle from the revenant.

“Yeah, yuck it up,” Sans sighed, taking another long drink. “Like this isn’t all screwed right ta hell.”

“You say swears a lot,” Frisk noted aloud.

“How very observant of you,” he replied with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Those special eyes o’ yours let ya see in the dark, too?”

“Yes,” Frisk replied without missing a beat. He stared before polishing off the brandy. He wouldn’t have been altogether surprised if she was being honest. He was still trying to get over the fact that someone so tiny had both saved his life and ripped apart an entire crew of goons and fed off of them like a humanoid leech. The fact that he wasn’t screaming in fear of the thing was pretty commendable, he thought to himself. But maybe the little human looking thing wasn’t joking after all, maybe she did have some monster-esque traits like darkvision after all. He was half tempted to test the theory, but the idea of being alone in a dark room with the creature that could easily rip apart an entire squad of armed men with her bare hands felt just the  _ slightest _ bit suicidal.

“M’kay,” Sans wished he had spent the time to pick up more alcohol, he was still  _ far  _ too sober to be dealing with all of this right now. He took another drag of his cigarette and finished it off, putting it out in the half filled ashtray on the wobbly stained coffee table in front of him. “Okay, okay. Everything’s good, this is  _ fine. _ So,” he clapped his hands together, interlocking his phalanges and giving them a side glance. “You familiar with the term ‘revenant’, kiddo?”

“Nope!” Frisk replied cheerfully, bouncing up and down a bit. “What’s that?”

“Pretty sure that’s what you are,” Sans tried to keep his patience. He had to remember, this thing -- this  _ kid _ \-- was basically a babybones; albeit, a very proficient in murder one, and that upset something in him to no end. “At least, that’s m’ theory based on given evidence thus far. You know anythin’ about the Dust War?”

“No?” Frisk tilted her head to the side, locks of hair falling in her face. “How come people fight about getting dusty? That’s silly.”

Sans opened his mouth to retort, then closed it. He  _ almost  _ wanted to describe to her in detail the horrors of that war, the terrors and despair it had wrought, the ‘jobs’ it had made available to despicable people in his…  _ profession. _ But as she stared at him with those big chocolate eyes, he found that he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. So instead, he sighed and closed his eye sockets, pressing the now empty, cool brandy bottle to his forehead, thinking heavily.

“Hoo, boy,” he mumbled after a moment. “Dunno how I’m supposed ta explain this shit.”

Frisk wasn’t very forthcoming with any answers of her own, which left him simply massaging his temples with an empty brandy bottle. What was he supposed to tell her? How was he supposed to say it? And should he even say it at all? Would it be better for her if she just didn’t know what she was?  _ If  _ he was right in his assumption at all? Besides, hardly anything was known about revenants, aside from their seemingly endless bloodlust and killing capacity, their unwavering tenacity and apparent superpowers shrouded in mystery. He felt as if he would only raise more questions by claiming to know what she was, and that was  _ if  _ he was right at all. And gods knew he didn’t want to be right. Just the idea of having one of those bogeymen sitting in his apartment creeped him out.

Then again, she had saved his life.

On the other hand, there was the whole ‘soul bond’ thing to work out…

“What is your name?”

“Whuzzat?” Sans blinked and looked up at her, almost having forgotten she was there he was so lost in contemplation. 

“Do you have a serial designation too?” Frisk pointed to her wrist where the metal clasp used to be. There was still that nasty looking red welt from where it had been on too tight for too long. He wondered who put it there and why, but he had his suspicions. 

“No, but I do have regular cereal,” Sans grinned. “Goes alright with milk. The name’s Sans. And, uh, guess I didn’t really say it b’fore, but, uh… thanks.”

She blinked and said “For what?”

“For… y’know,” he nodded a little. “Takin’ care of those goons for me. I might’a gotten messed up real bad if ya hadn’t stepped in like that. Not every day somebody in Under City bothers ta help out their neighbor, you know?”

“Is that what this place is called?” Frisk tilted her head to the side in that strange manner again, as if she was listening to someone else simultaneously. 

“You don’t even know where you  _ are? _ ” he balked at her. She only shook her head twice, hair flopping back and forth. “Hoo,  _ boy _ . Got my work cut  _ out  _ for me, huh. You said yer still hungry?”

She nodded furiously and Sans shifted a bit uneasily, uncertain if she would still thirst for human blood or not, because if so he was sort of lacking in that department. He motioned for her to follow and led her to the kitchen, where he flicked on the lightswitch. It blew out almost immediately and he sighed through his nostril bone, using the light from the attached living room instead and hoping that she had been serious about the darkvision thing. He silently poured her a bowl of cheap cereal, adding the milk and she watched in amazement as the cardboard textured sugar coated diabetes in a box snapped and popped until it settled.

The skeleton silently watched the little human struggle with the spoon as she fed herself at the… well it was a kitchen table if you squinted real hard and ignored the pile of garbage, letters, bills, and newspapers piled up on it. Frisk’s clumsy fumbling was adorable in its own right, but that aside it also showed that she didn’t have any real experience with tableware, or even something as humble as breakfast cereal. 

“Fank ooh mifter Shansh,” Frisk said through a mouthful of cereal, and Sans pulled a bottle of ketchup out of the refrigerator and dropped into the creaky chair across from her.   
“Oh, and well mannered, too,” he said with just a sliver of sarcasm, but it went thoroughly unnoticed or ignored as she dug into the cereal like it was the best meal she’d ever had. That, too, made him uneasy. Didn’t she drink blood or eat flesh or something? What kind of revenant was she? Was she some kind of vampire like those fancy black and white moving pictures that were all the rage? She didn’t  _ look _ like Nosferatu, but looks could be deceiving. He knew all about that.

He peppered her with questions in between bites, but it yielded very few results. She hadn’t provided him with much in the way of answers, but as annoying as that was, Sans couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t intentional stonewalling. Rather, it more seemed to be a case of her being just as ignorant as him, combined with a limited vocabulary and a lack of world experience. She probably did have a bit more she could say, if he could both find the right way to ask and puzzle out her (likely) unintentionally cryptic responses. 

But the real questions, like where had she come from, and who the Smiling Man was, were likely a mystery even to her. He didn’t even bother to pursue the most obvious of questions; where are your parents, because she was a little kid in the Under City, that was enough of an answer on its own. The only humans down here were the ones nobody wanted, or the ones that didn’t want to be found, and it was obvious which category the kid fell into. 

A revenant, a goddamn revenant. Holy hell he hoped he was wrong about that. While technically there was a city-wide bounty on them, only the human cops actually gave a damn about pursuing it since - by and large - revenants were of no threat to monsters, unless you got in their way, and most had the good sense to mind their own business. Monsters didn’t have blood, so revenants weren’t interested in them, so why waste what limited resources they had on chasing down a non-threat? 

The kiddo burped slightly, earning an approving chuckle from Sans, and a giggle in response from Frisk. What a fucking mess, revenant or not, he was still fucking soul bonded to them, at least that explained the feeling of calmness he had around them, the instinctual certainty that they would not hurt him; they were goddamn married, for all intents and purposes. Sans wasn’t an idiot - contrary to popular opinion - and knew when he was in over his head, he also wasn’t too proud to seek outside help. He didn’t like feeling kicked in the pride, but sometimes it was necessary to shoulder it in order to get an outside opinion or some good advice, and right now he could use an awful lot of that.

The problem was that the only outside help he could think of was Grillby, who would not react…  _ well  _ to the situation. In fairness most wouldn’t, but with the options between Grillby or Papyrus, well he knew that Papyrus was a bit high-strung and would react dramatically, while Grillby may not respond in an ideal way, but at least he could be more rational than Sans’ baby bro. And if this thing - this  _ person _ was indeed a revenant, then there was no way in  _ hell _ that he was going to have his little brother dragged into his mess. He’d spent years and years ensuring that Papyrus never caught wind of his…  _ extracurricular  _ activities and side jobs, making sure that there was always food on the table for his beloved sibling, ensuring that he could afford schooling and at least somewhat proper housing, even if it wasn’t the best, it was still better than what most monsters could manage, and it had taken more work and secrecy than Sans would ever be comfortable with Papyrus knowing about. No, he decided. Papyrus could not be an option on this, not immediately anyway.

Fuck he was too sober for this.

The kid was tipping the bowl back, slurping up the milk and sugar left at the bottom of the bowl, making Sans cringe involuntarily at the mental image that resurfaced at the sound. What if she  _ wasn’t  _ a revenant? Fucking hell, would that be better or worse? At least revenants were a known -  _ somewhat  _ \- variable. If she wasn’t…. 

But what other creature fed upon humans like some kind of giant leech? Not much else came immediately to mind, and it baffled him to no end. The only other creature he could think of was the popular human myth of the vampire, and even monsters knew that those things didn’t and never did exist. 

… Right?

Fucking hell, now his head was going in circles, the path greased by an unhealthy mixture of alcohol and paranoia. To be fair, that wasn’t anything new to him, but this time it wasn’t just his own ass involved in the shit. It was hard enough making the right decision in a sober state, nevermind trying while tipsy, stressed-out, freaking out, and extra paranoid, just for flavour. But at least Sans knew that leaving the apartment would be a very, very bad idea right now, it would be better to grab a shower and a nap. Maybe dig around to see if he had any spare booze at all, he could definitely use another smoke.

But what about the kid? Could he trust her not to rip out his throat while he was sleeping?  _ What throat? _ What little of his sober mind was left demanded incredulously,  _ You don’t have a fucking throat you calcified dumbass! _ Sans couldn’t shake the mad little giggle, he couldn’t help but admit to himself that he did indeed sound a bit hysterical. But who wouldn’t in his situation? Speaking of which, this whole ‘situation’ was screwed, beyond that. He wouldn’t be altogether surprised if he was in some kind of coma and hallucinating the entire series of events that had led to this point, at least that seemed like a  _ slightly _ more plausible theory than some tiny random vampire girl swooping in from nowhere just to save his bony behind.  _ Was _ she even a vampire? Sans’s conjectures on the idea were few and far between, he just didn’t have enough information aside from ‘stealthy, strong and drinks blood’, which wasn’t necessarily that much different from the much feared revenant. Maybe he could find a professional or something. He wondered if she’d react if he threw garlic powder on her. Though she’d probably just sneeze.

Then again, if she  _ did _ turn out to be a revenant after all, there was always that possibility of turning her in for that quite hefty bounty. He’d be able to do more than just put food on the table for once. He’d be set for  _ quite  _ a while…

But then they looked at him with those big chocolate eyes and he felt his soul sink a little more. No, he decided then and there. She might have been some kind of bloodthirsty revenant for all he knew, but she was still just a kid. And despite all of his failings, regardless of his many sins, Sans still had morals. There were still some things that he just wouldn’t do, and tossing some small child to the wolves was one of them. Granted, said child could probably tear the wolves apart with nothing more than her fists, but still, it was the thought that counted.

It took him a while to realize that he was just sitting in the kitchen chair with his elbow on the table, chin in his hand staring at the revenant - at Frisk, and they were still sitting there in silence, staring right back at him. It jolted him out of his reverie, it didn’t matter to him who or what they were when they did that, it was freakin’  _ creepy _ .

“Can ya quit doin’ that?” Sans’s smile felt strained, forced.

“Quit what?” Frisk blinked at him a couple of times.

“Never mind,” he stood and readjusted his jacket, sticking his hands in his pockets. “You good now?”   
“Still hungry,” she replied simply, and he poured her another bowl of cereal. She was scarfing it down before he even added the milk, but he didn’t bother to scold her. He was a little afraid of losing a finger bone if he got a bit too close from how rapidly she was shoveling it down. He patted her on the head and she froze up for a few seconds, eyes widening as she stared at him.

“Slow down just a lil’ bit, alright pal?” Sans shifted over to the dial phone hanging up beside the door frame and leaned against the wall. They were still giving him that funny undefinable look. “Don’t want ya chokin’ on me, a’ight?”   
“A’ight,” she said with a small, almost unnoticed smile, but he caught it just as she ducked her head down and hid behind her hair. It made his soul twinge weirdly, and he chalked it up to the unnatural soul bond that had been forged between them. Right, there was still  _ that _ little matter to take care of. Somehow. Good lord, Papyrus really was going to absolutely kick his ass. This whole ordeal had gone from one little outing to an insane tea party with the mad hatter in less than an hour.

“Stay real quiet for a little bit,” he instructed her, and she gave a single nod and continued to eat, albeit at a slower pace. “Gotta make an important call, m’kay?”

“M’kay,” Frisk stated in that same tone as him, as if she was trying to imitate his verbal tics. It would have been endearing had it not been so weird.

Sans did his best to clear his still drunken mind and dug through his memory, taking a few moments before he recalled the number he needed. He spun the rotary and listened to the phone ring and ring. He wouldn’t be surprised if nobody picked up, especially this late at night. And, not altogether surprisingly, nobody answered. He sighed and hung up the phone, leaning against the wall and turning his attention back to the human (revenant, it was difficult to think of them as such when they looked nothing like what he had been told for years) and found them drinking from the jug of milk, finishing it off and gasping for air before dropping the empty container on the table.

“Fuck,” he muttered aloud. “Gonna have ta pick up groceries. Anyway,” he shifted his weight from foot to foot, pushing his back up against the wall and reclining against the warped wood. “Grillbz prolly won’t pick up ‘til mornin’, so I guess yer stuck with me ‘til then. Guess we can find out then whether or not he’ll have any ideas. Sound good?”

“I guess?” Frisk shrugged unhelpfully. “Do you have any more food?”

“Gonna eat me outta house and home,” he grumbled, pushing off from the wall. He checked the refrigerator again and frowned, looking about for anything aside from a half empty ketchup bottle and a single unopened glass bottle of beer. He pulled the beer out and dropped it on the kitchen table for himself, turning and opening up a couple of cabinets and watched a tiny field mouse frantically try to escape through a little hole in the wall. He was tempted to swipe the thing and toss it out, but even little animals like that needed food from time to time. But still, why couldn’t the rodents raid some rich asshole’s house and not his broken down apartment?

Sans sighed and closed the empty pantries, starting to apologize before he realized that the kid had just belched for a good reason. They’d completely downed his last bottle of beer, gasping for breath with an almost loopy expression.

“Aw, what the  _ fuck _ , kid?!” Sans blurted in aggravation, but instead of being intimidated or afraid like he expected, she just giggled that little laugh of hers again.    
“Buzzy soda taste funny,” Frisk slurred, tilting side to side on the chair. Sans sighed and pinched the bridge of his nostril bone, letting out a frustrated, tired sigh through his teeth.

“That. Was my last.  _ Goddamn  _ beer,” he picked up the drained bottle between his thumb and forefinger and dropped it into the trash. “So  _ thanks _ for that.”

“You’re welcome!” Frisk chirruped without an ounce of remorse. Her cheeks had turned a cherry red and she was giggling and tittering about something, though he didn’t know what. Sans eventually just shrugged and opted instead to pat her on the head roughly.

“You’re lucky I’m a damn good host,” he grumbled after a bit. “Guess I can pick up more tomorrow.”   
“Yay! More buzzy sodas!” Frisk yelled, and he flinched from the noise. She hiccuped and giggled again, almost falling off the chair. Sans simply sighed and reached down, picking her up around the belly like a cat and carrying her into the other room. He started to turn off the kitchen light before realizing, oh, right, yet another light bulb was blown thanks to a combination of the shoddy electrical work and reaction to subdermal monster magic. It always did react to electronics in a funny way. Fantastic. One more thing he’d have to scrape together spare change for. 

“Yeah, I’m cuttin’ you off fer the night,” Sans dumped her rather unceremoniously face down onto the couch, where she simply continued to snicker. “I’m gonna let ya have that  _ one _ , since ya saved my sorry hide an’ all, but no more stealin’ my booze, m’kay kid?”

“M’kay kid,” Frisk rolled over and repeated his words again and again, like they were trying to perfectly imitate his tone. “M’kay kid! M’kay kid! Hee hee!”

“Have fun with the hangover,” Sans pulled a spare sheet out of the hallway linen closet, returning to toss it carefully over the little one. “Here ya go, ya little liquor lovin’ brat. Sleep tight, a’ight?”   
“A’ight,” Frisk almost purred, curling up in the sheet happily, eyes already half lidded as she yawned and wrapped herself up. Sans only shook his head, but he couldn’t help but smile a little. The brat was a basketful of trouble and he knew it, but he was already in over his head, so in for a penny, in for a pound. Sans knew that he was screwed beyond all belief, so if he looked at it from a different angle, the only way to go from here was up. That is, if the ghosts of his past didn’t haunt him again tonight like so many other nights. But he was trying to stay optimistic, it was what Papyrus would have done. He dropped into the recliner beside the couch and kicked out the footrest, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets to keep them warm. He hoped that the lack of heating wouldn’t bother the revenant kid too much, but when he glanced over to ask if they were alright they were already fast asleep, face peaceful with a little smile on their lips.

“... Heh. Goodnight to you too, ya lil’ shit.”

0-0-0-0-0

Morning came with the annoying and unforgivable light of dawn, making the skeleton groan and pinch the bridge of his nose bone. It was weird, for the first time in… well a very, very long time, he had not dreamed of The Old Days. Usually those dreams centered around some poor bastard getting a couple of bones broken if he was unlucky and a pine coat if he wasn’t. Stone shoes if he was  _ REALLY _ unlucky. 

Instead, he had dreamed of… swimming in a large bowl of cereal? What the hell? That was more like a little kid’s dream, wasn’t it? Sans hardly ever dreamed of food, not unless he was  _ really _ hungry, and he was no stranger to skipping meals. Although the bit with the milk swimming pool was weird enough on its own, he didn’t want to wake up to find himself chewing on his own jacket again.

He dragged himself up and yawned, rubbed his eye sockets then glanced around; or at least he would have, if he hadn’t come face-to-face with a pair of wide chocolate eyes. 

“That was a lot of swears.” Frisk noted, sitting on the coffee table and looking down at where Sans had fallen from shock, and was now rubbing his skull, still releasing a steady stream of increasingly creative curse words. How long had they been sitting there, just… watching him?

“You’re gonna hear a lot fuckin’ more if ya do that again,” Sans grumbled as he sat up, now fully alert. “Jesus titfuck Krishna, don’t  _ do  _ that -- hang on,” he blinked the sleep out of his eye sockets, his head aching from last night’s booze. He wished he had a little more to ease off the pain. “So, uh. You’re real. Not just a dream, huh?”

“Did you have funny dreams too, Mister Sans?” Frisk kicked her legs back and forth, tilting on the coffee table and smiling at him cheerfully. “What did you dream about, huh? Huh?”

“... Cereal,” he admitted, not really knowing why he was being so forthcoming, or quite so embarrassed, about his recent dream.

“That’s funny,” Frisk tittered. “I dreamed about a silly tall man in a yellow suit.”

“Oh yeah?” Sans rubbed the side of his head as he stood, still mildly distracted. “Did he have a monkey with him?”

“No, but he did see you put that gun to his head.”

Sans felt his marrow run  _ cold. _

That memory, the one he had tried so many times to bury, all came rushing back up to the surface. He could only stare in disbelief at the revenant, in shock, aghast at what she so brazenly spoke of as if she were discussing the weather. And she just kept right on kicking her legs back and forth and smiling, like he wasn’t an abhorrent grizzled merc with so much baggage it was breaking his back. He didn’t have any answer as to  _ how _ the kid knew that. He wasn’t sure that he  _ wanted  _ to know, either.

Some part of Sans noted that the kid didn’t appear to have any sort of hangover whatsoever, that had to be some sort of universal injustice. Maybe the kid DID have a hangover? Just… a lot earlier? He wasn’t sure if he liked that now that he thought of it, maybe it was better that they just didn’t have a hangover. 

Wait… now that he thought about it, he didn’t either… sure he had a headache, but that was rapidly disappearing and was from falling earlier, not his healthy and nutritious dinner of alcohol and anxiety. Was this because of the kid’s weird powers? If they could cure hangovers, he could think of one or two ways to make an absolute fortune. But using someone like that, especially someone that was trusting him, left him feeling like his soul was being dipped in grease. Still, the allure of easy cash lured him with its siren call, their strange abilities a bizarre boon. Or was it part of the soul bond? Was that even possible? While the skeleton wasn’t exactly upset about this new development, he wasn’t the kind of monster that enjoyed surprises on the regular, and this kid was full of them. 

“You hungry pal?” The skeleton inquired, glancing down at the petite child who beamed and nodded vigorously, “Course you are,” Sans chuckled, “A’ight let’s go get some breakfast, then we’re goin’ to the Librarby. After that, I’mma introduce ya to a good friend of mine.” 

“Is he nice?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s a bit of a  _ hothead _ .”

_ Grillby’s gonna be shittin’ kittens when he sees this. _

Well at least they had a plan, but tragically Sans had forgotten one key danger, one important fact that he had missed; that he was Sans Skeleton and the world loved little more than to fuck with Sans Skeleton. 

The pair had barely stepped outside with Sans locking the door when he heard a voice that made his soul sink to his feet.   
  
“Brother?”

_ Oh, slam me sideways and call me Sally. _

Papyrus was standing there, just outside his door a bare meter away, staring in shock, holding several paper bags of food, his jaw slack. The taller skeleton wore simple tan slacks and suspenders with a worn white long sleeve shirt with rolled up sleeves, his bowler hat tilted ever so slightly to the side and his smile slightly skewed as well. Sans didn’t know how to respond, giving a weak grin, but started when Frisk suddenly grabbed him, and hid behind the self-styled comedian. Kid could rip apart gangsters but was scared of his little brother?

  
  


“Heyya, bro,” Sans cleared his throat uneasily. “What’cha doin’ here, and so early?”

“I haven’t heard from you in a while,” Papyrus’s booming tone echoed down the hall, and he seemed to notice this and tried to lower his voice a bit. “I know you have a tendency to work without eating, so I thought I would bring you some groceries. May I come in, brother?”

_ Oh god I don’t want him to see the place like this- _

“Uh, s-sure,” he dug in his pocket for the key and unlocked the door, throwing it open for his brother. Papyrus had a spare key but with his arms being full of the paper bags, he wasn’t exactly in a position to do it himself.

Papyrus didn’t seem surprised at the state of the apartment, just disappointed and sighed, maneuvering through the maze of garbage bags, piles of newspapers and clothes. Frisk however continued to cling to Sans’s leg, shielding herself behind him, which both amused and baffled Sans. Kid had been a non-stop source of conversation, but had just clammed up for some reason. It almost looked like she was shy, but that couldn’t be it… could it?

“Do you mind if I just set these down on the table?” Papyrus asked as he elbowed the kitchen light switch, frowning when it didn’t come on.

“Yeah, sure,” Sans cleared his throat uneasily, kicking an old pizza box out of the way. Papyrus must have been so disappointed in him, he could  _ feel  _ the disapproval without even needing to see his face, and it made his soul ache. Had he known that his brother was going to be making a surprise visit he would have made at least a slight effort to pick up the place a bit.

“The lighting in this place is terrible,” Papyrus stated plainly as he placed the paper bags on the table, Frisk leaning around Sans curiously despite their apparent unease. “I swear, you spend a fortune on lightbulbs, Sans.”

“I know, I know,” he mumbled, stuffing his hands in his jacket pocket. Frisk still clung to his elbow but was ever so slowly shifting from around behind him to peer up at Papyrus, drinking in the sight of the taller skeleton. “I’ll get outta this place when I get the scratch together, bro, don’t worry ‘bout me.”

“You know that you are always welcome to move in with me,” he placed a kind hand on his brother’s shoulder, and Sans felt his soul crying out in pain. He forced on a small smile though, no matter how much it hurt. There was no way that he could ever let Papyrus find out how he made his money. Not now, not ever. The truth would break him forever.

“Nah, can’t do that, bro,” Sans brushed him off with a wink. “Gotta make it on my own or I’ll never make it, y’know?”

“Pride cometh before the fall, brother,” Papyrus warned him with a waggling finger. He finally turned to Frisk and placed his hands on his hips, clearly wanting to change the subject as he smiled widely. “And I see that you have a houseguest! And what might your name be, little one?”

“Little shit,” Frisk stated calmly and Sans facepalmed instantly. “That’s what Mister Sans calls me.”   
“ _ Sans, _ ” Papyrus’s tone darkened instantly.

“She’s joking,” he laughed nervously. “Her name is Frisk.”

“ _ Sans!”  _ Papyrus repeated with growing exasperation, “Really Sans?” The other skeleton threw his hands into the air, he knew what his brother would say, and he was right, but the elder skeleton just missed arguing with him.

“Wha~at?” Sans couldn’t help but grin. “She said she came outta the sewer, so if the shoe  _ fits _ -”

“I’m sorry, the  _ sewer? _ ” Papyrus balked and Sans bit his tongue, careful of how much to reveal here. He didn’t even think of how the kid must have looked to his well dressed brother. Dusty clothes that had literally been lifted from a corpse, he hadn’t even  _ bothered _ to wash them for her, stars and stones, what was wrong with him? Then again, he did have quite a few other things on his mind, so  _ maybe _ it was forgivable? The kid didn’t even have  _ stripes _ , all monster children and even some human children had striped clothing; it wasn’t just customary, it was a symbol that they were protected. He’d  _ have _ to get her new clothes if he wasn’t going to just bail on her the first chance he got, and somehow he got the sinking feeling that that wasn’t an option anymore. Not with the soul situation he had going on, just one more thing that he could never tell his brother.

“... Sans?”

“Sorry, what?” Sans blinked, not realizing until it was too late that he had just been standing there staring at his brother as he got lost in thought.

“I said, you  _ are _ joking, right brother?” Papyrus tapped his gloved fingers together, looking down to the little one with concern. She seemed to be far less worried by Papyrus now that she knew he was known by Sans, at least that was his theory.

“It’s a long story,” Sans cleared his throat again awkwardly, unsure of just how much was safe to reveal to him. “I, uh…  _ found _ the kid in an alley,” he started slowly, which wasn’t  _ technically _ untrue, but still left him feeling foul for bending the facts again. “Didn’t have anywhere ta go, so I brought ‘em home with me last night. She’s alright, but, uh, watch out. Got a  _ killer _ appetite.”

  
  


“I see,” Papyrus nodded, holding his chin in his hand. “Well, I’ll have to make sure to bring more groceries next time if that’s the case-”   
“Ahh, bro,” Sans flinched. “Y-you really don’t have ta do that-”

“Are you actually going to keep your pantry stocked like a responsible adult?” Papyrus quipped in a surprisingly cold tone, and Sans recoiled slightly. “Mm-hmm. That’s what I thought. Now then!” he turned to Frisk and smiled a bit softer. He pulled a pen and paper out of his pocket and scribbled something down. “Here you are, little one. I know that my brother can be a bit of a layabout,” he side eyed Sans and Sans shifted under his watchful gaze. “But he’s a good person at heart. If you ever need assistance or help with anything, you can always count on your Great Uncle Papyrus! Nyeh heh heh,” he chortled aloud and handed her the folded up piece of paper, which she held as if it were a glorious golden treasure.

Frisk looked confused as she opened it, her nose wrinkling, and expression apologetic.   
“I can’t read this.” she murmured apologetically, looking up at the other skeleton, it wasn’t THAT unheard of and in retrospect, Sans realized he should have guessed that before; if she hadn’t eaten cereal, why would she have been to school? Learn to read or write? It still came as a bit of a shock to Sans, but Papyrus just seemed to take it all in stride like it was no problem at all.

“That’s quite all right little one,” he patted her gently on the shoulder, and her cheeks flushed lightly. “Anyone can learn to read, Sans and I would be delighted to teach you!”

“Hey, that gives me an idea,” Sans interjected as if the idea had just come to him. “Why don’t I take the kid up to the Librarby? Show ‘em some books and help ‘em pick out some good starter material?”   
“How very thoughtful of you, Sans!” Papyrus beamed at him, and Sans felt that greasy feeling on his soul again for so casually deceiving his brother. But he forced a smile on anyway, despite how badly it hurt. “What do you say, little one? Would you like to learn to read?”   
“I’d be happy to,” Frisk beamed toothily at him, and Sans felt a bit of his soul melting at the sight. How was  _ this _ the creature that only a matter of hours ago had literally ripped apart an entire group of people with her bare hands? He had to keep that in mind. That this kid wasn’t just a potential revenant, she was  _ dangerous.  _ For some reason his left eye socket kept  _ burning _ and he resisted the urge to rub it. He could swear he kept seeing flashes of blue, then yellow, but it was gone when he blinked again.

“You wanna come with us, Paps?” Sans asked, and was thoroughly relieved when Papyrus shook his head.   
“I’m afraid that I have some other matters to attend to,” he placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, leaning down so that only he could hear. “Do take good care of the little one, alright? People have been getting hurt in this neighborhood lately. I worry so much about you.”

_ Bro if only you knew. _

“We’ll be fine,” Sans gave him a lazy grin. “We’ve only got books ta worry about, so if any fall, we can only blame our  _ shelves _ .”

Papyrus groaned as if in agony, dragging a hand down his face.

“For just  _ once _ I wanted to get through a day without one of your terrible puns,” he sighed.

“Why bro? Is it too much _ pun _ -ishment?” Sans’ grin widened as Papyrus took on an almost offended look, then shot a glance at the lightly tittering Frisk, who was hiding her mouth behind her hands.

“Little Frisk, if you ever need an escape, just come to my restaurant, I wouldn’t inflict Sans’ jokes on my worst enemy, nyeh heh heh!” The kid giggled along with his brother, it was a heartwarming sight, and a memory Sans would file away for later. “Call me when you get home, brother,” Papyrus rolled down his sleeves and opened the front door, eyeing him carefully. He gave Frisk such a  _ strange  _ look, Sans felt such an overwhelming sensation that somehow, against all odds, Papyrus just  _ knew _ and it was driving him mad. “I expect to hear from you by this evening, no excuses this time. Got that?”

“Sure thing bro,” Sans nodded once, not having expected the sudden seriousness to his tone. But Papyrus was all smiles just before he left, tipping his bowler hat to Frisk and whistling as he went, closing the door behind him and making his way down the apartment hallway. 

Sans then heard the shout of  _ dear lord that roach is HUGE! _ and struggled to hide his snort.

“... I like him,” Frisk said after a stretch of silence, smiling up to Sans widely.

“Yeah,” Sans put the grocery bags in the refrigerator without bothering to take them out. “Me too. He’s a pretty swell guy. Just wasn’t expectin’ to see him today is all.”

“Are we really going to a Librarby? What’s that?” Frisk asked, taking the hand that was offered them. He nodded once and kept his other hand calmly wrapped around the ivory handle of his pistol in his jacket pocket. In this neighborhood it was good to keep your big iron close and your secrets closer, you never knew what was going to come around the corner. Like, say, for example, a revenant.

“Sure are, pal. Big ol’ place with lots of books,” Sans locked the door behind them once again, double checking to make sure that he wasn’t receiving any more last minute visitors. Thankfully, the coast seemed clear, and he let out a silent sigh of relief. “Heyya Chuck,” he nodded to the fat roach still sitting on the wall, little antennae twitching at his approach. “Watch my shit ‘til I get back. Thanks pal, I’ll try not ta  _ bug _ ya about it.”

Frisk tittered lightly and Sans felt himself genuinely smile for once in a long time. It was rare that it wasn’t just a painted on expression for him, a method of coping and hiding away, but she had already started to lift his spirits in her own strange way. In fact,  _ everything _ had started to get strange, and he decided to brace himself for any further bizarreness. Turns out he’d thank himself for that later.

But for now, Sans had a trip to the local Librarby to make, and plenty of heavy reading to do on the supposedly extinct revenants without so much as a single clue as to just how wild his life was about to get.

  
  
  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  
  
  


He had lied, their first stop ended up being a donation bin, where Frisk got herself a run-down purple and blue-striped sweatshirt and a pair of boy’s shorts, as well as some shoes that were in relatively good condition and fit well enough. 

At least this would spare him the weird looks for having the kid dressed in more… adult clothes. Preferably ones that weren’t coated in the dust of some now gone monster that hardly had time to shout for help before she was cut down. It made him feel sick just remembering it. Now she looked like any other human kid in the Under City: thrown out like trash from Topside and picked up by a monster. 

The Librarby had been a favourite of his as a babybones, he taught himself and later Papyrus how to read here. Monsters were keenly aware that the name of the building was wrong, but what had started as an honest mistake was now an ongoing bad joke, which meant that Papyrus hated it of course. Under City didn’t have a fantastic reputation or budget, but the Librarby was at least well cared for. A couple of stone pillars outside displayed plaques of foundation dates and builders, and they entered without trouble. Sans never did bother to check books out, even though he had a library card, but maybe now he’d finally have a chance to dust the old thing off. Frisk sat next to the taller skeleton, flipping through a picture book curiously while Sans had a notepad and a small stack of books ranging from encyclopedias to fantasy books. At the top of the notepad was written ‘vampire’ with bullet points jotted down underneath, along with several other potential oddities.

“...allergic ta sunlight…” Sans shot a dubious glance at the kid who had put the picture book away and was selecting another, “nope.” He crossed that off the list and scowled back at his encyclopedia in concentration. The problem was that there were so many different interpretations and cultural variants that sifting through it all was turning into more of an intellectual slog than he had anticipated. Once more, Sans shot a glance at the girl who was nose-deep in a book about dogs, Papyrus’ least favourite animal. “Hey kiddo, can ya turn into a bat?” Frisk blinked in curiosity then screwed her face up in concentration, hands curled into little fists beneath her chin as she… uhh… looked constipated. Then, with a big sigh, the girl looked up at him and shook her head, forcing the skeleton to stifle a snicker, of course if they could transform, it’s not like they would necessarily know how to do it anyways, but A for effort.

“Mm-kay, that’s another ‘no’...” Sans checked off another mark on the page. “Can ya walk through walls, disappear or fly?”

“Do you think I’m a ghost?” Frisk blinked curiously at him. He shrugged once and checked off another marking on the page, the long list steadily dwindling. The theory of her being an undead blood sucker wasn’t entirely outside of the realm of possibility, though every time he checked she had a pulse and were warm, and from everything he read undead were usually the opposite, so he could cross off ‘wraith’ and ‘ghoul’ as well. He was almost a little disappointed to find out that she  _ wasn’t _ undead; with how often both humans and monsters turned him away or rebuked him or sometimes straight up insulted him for being some kind of ill omen, he would have welcomed the little one as being a bit more like the skeleton. He then immediately mentally scolded himself for such a selfish desire, what was he thinking? Actually  _ wanting _ her to be spurned by society as much as him and Papyrus, just so that he himself wouldn’t feel like such an outcast?

_ You’re a real piece of work, bonebag.  _

The skeleton scribbled a quick cross and showed it to the girl, who didn’t immediately burst into flames, nor was repulsed by it, instead she shot a confused glance at the skeleton, who shrugged and went back to the list, striking ‘crosses’ off. Though, to be fair, it was just a drawing, maybe it had to be a real cross, or a holy one blessed by a priest or something? 

“Hey Frisk,” The girl glanced up from her book again, shockingly patient this one, “D’ya wanna sleep in a coffin?” the way her nose wrinkled up and she stuck her tongue out in revulsion actually made Sans crack a little, the taller monster giggling a bit, then crossing that one off the list too. 

So much for ‘vampire’, and that had been his best guess. Aside from the one he  _ really _ didn’t want her to be, which of course, left…

_ Revenant.  _

Sans rubbed his temples, trying to suppress the oncoming headache, as he stared down at his list, with all the strikethroughs banishing each possibility that the kid was something, anything other than one of those nightmare creatures that the humans liked to bang on about. Of course, it was likely that they were exaggerating, but judging by how easily the ten-year-old had ripped through those Guardians of Humanity thugs, it wasn’t much of an exaggeration. 

“Don’ suppose you can control fire.” Sans sighed wearily as he struck off the last point, Frisk glancing up at him. An orange glow caught his attention and Sans looked down to see the little one’s eyes a bright blood red, and a flame swirling between her palms, as some sort of red fluid oozed out of her arms and flowed into the fire, feeding it. 

For some reason, that didn’t make Sans feel any better.

_ And, check... _

“See this book?” he watched as the fire faded from her palms and her eyes resumed their previous coloring, and she nodded seriously. He held the thick dictionary out to her and she took it curiously in her hands. “See if you can tear it apart, clean as you can.”

Frisk easily ripped the dictionary right in half down the spine, as if it were no simpler than a single sheet of paper. Sans felt quite a bit guilty about defacing a book like that, and quickly put it together and shoved it back onto the shelf, looking about to make sure they hadn’t been spotted literally tearing a dictionary in half with her bare hands.

_ Super strength, check… _

They were supposed to be able to fly, and Frisk had said she couldn’t, but when she had literally ripped the GoH goons a new one, she had been on a roof several levels up, so maybe she could jump? 

“Hey Frisk, how high can you jump?” he inquired as casually as possible, uncertain why anxiety was swelling in his ribs, did he want the kid to be a vampire? Did he not? To be honest, he was utterly lost with himself, not knowing which idea scared him more. The little girl crouched, eyes turned upwards as she studied the book shelves above, and the stone ceiling higher up, and once more they turned red. She sprang upwards from a standstill, rocketing over the top of the shelves, springing off and ricocheting off the wall, shooting up until she was at the ceiling where she easily clung to one of the supports. Upside down. 

_ And… check. Well, fuck me in the face. _

“Alright. Come on down,” he whispered, motioning for her to join him on the ground, and she slipped lithely from the roof to top of the shelves and to the ground in one swift movement as gracefully as a cat leaping from one to the other.It was fucking eerie how silently she had moved, those crimson eyes sharp as daggers just  _ watching  _ him the entire time, not only descending but also ascending, the librarby wasn’t abandoned yet nobody seemed to have noticed her little escapade up and down the wall. 

He didn’t dare check for super speed in here, but had a strong feeling that he already knew the answer, considering that when she had saved him in the alleyway, the little girl had impacted that GoH dickbag with such force that the guy seemed to teleport.

Teleportation. Now,  _ that _ was a superpower he could get behind. Too bad monsters only had minor magic like healing or summoning weapons or small items. When humans got magic, they tended to go kind of crazy. Hopefully the same wouldn’t happen to this little human - but then again, she wasn’t really human, was she?

The word rang in his head over and over again, regardless of how much he wanted to deny it, the facts stacked up.

_ Revenant. _

“So… uhh… buddy, ya got any other magic tricks ya wanna show me?” He tried to sound as casual as possible, leaning against the bookshelves with a wry grin. The girl tilted her head in thought, it was said that Revenants could mimic magical effects… somehow, but the exact methodology had never been confirmed, as far as he knew. This was equal parts terrifying and exciting, all uncharted territory for him. So many possibilities. Granted, he probably shouldn’t have been experimenting with her in a public place, but nobody seemed to have seen them, so it was probably fine, right? 

Frisk reached out and plucked Sans’ pencil from his grip, confusing the skeleton who watched with trepidation as she held it in her fist. Suddenly, the kid slammed it down onto her hand, wincing slightly as the pencil punched through and exited out the other side, Sans strangling his yell of shock into a cough. 

“What the  _ hell!, _ ” he demanded in a whisper-yell, panic rising in his chest. Yet Frisk didn’t seem too bothered as she unsheathed the pencil from her fresh injury and held the wounded hand up for him to see, and once more her eyes pulsed that red colour… and the injury closed, the blood actually being re-absorbed into her skin. 

That wasn’t fucking healing, that was regeneration! 

Once more, her scarlet peepers faded back to chocolate and she returned the pencil to the skeleton, while looking up at him expectantly, a smile on her lips as she waited for… what? A headpat? Praise? 

“What in the fuck,” Sans muttered, trying desperately not to show just how badly freaked out he was. “Just, uh… just a little  _ rattled _ , buddy,” he forced a weak shaky grin, though his discomfort must have shown as her smile slowly started to fade into a welling stare of concern. “Don’t-don’t go doin’ somethin’ like that again. Do  _ not _ do that again, a’ight?”

“... A’ight,” Frisk iterated in a mockery of his tone, her head tilting downward as if she had just been backhanded. The look on her face certainly seemed to be as such. Sans felt a drawing pain of worry building in his soul and he gripped her shoulder tightly but gently as he could, eventually getting her to look back up at him.

“Just don’t want’cha gettin’ hurt is all. M’kay?” he explained softly, and she swallowed and nodded once. Sans let out a breath of relief, unwilling to take the pencil back now that it had actually  _ pierced _ her hand, even though not a single shred of evidence remained of it. She slowly put a hand up on her shoulder and covered his own, a tiny smile growing on her lips.

“You really don’t have to worry about me,” Frisk uttered quietly. “I’m tough.”

“Yeah. I know,” he ruffled her hair and earned a disgruntled but pleased grin from her. “Made of chocolate chips and bricks, ‘cause yer one tough cookie.”

Frisk tittered again and that sound made his soul go aflutter. He felt just a little bit calmer hearing it, wondering just how much of it was due to his soul predicament and how much of it was genuinely him. He wasn’t sure how badly he wanted to know, if he really wanted to know at all.

But of course he did.

He  _ always _ had to have the answer.

So, he picked out a couple more picture books to keep Frisk occupied, put away his notepad with a heavy soul, and quietly, gradually began to stack up his arms with books on the troubling and mysterious mystical nature of soul bonds, all the while oblivious to just how closely they were being watched.

0-0-0-0-0

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Revelations

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


It was starting to drizzle by the time they were finally finished at the Librarby.

  
  
  


Sans felt a little refreshed by the spritzing of light rain, tucking the books into his inner jacket and letting out a pleased sigh. Frisk, however, did not seem to like the rain one bit. Her hair was already damp and sticking to her head, her too-big sweater seeming to swallow her up as it soaked up water, a small scowl flittering across her features. She tucked her hands under her armpits and shifted from foot to foot with a growing frown, brows furrowing into a sharp slant; at least, until Sans offered his hand to her, and she eventually took it in her own, her unhappy expression slowly but surely washing away with the rain.

“C’mon, pal,” Sans said just loudly enough for her to hear over the sound of the gradually growing rain. “We better get a move on if we don’t wanna get soaked.”

“I don’t like getting wet…” Frisk mumbled, though he somehow heard it despite the pattering of water around them. “Don’t like water.”

“Well then,  _ water _ we waitin’ around for?” he grinned when she snickered, hiding her smile behind her hand. He led her down the road past several monsters carrying their own umbrellas, it would have been nice if he’d managed to bring one of his own. Though things like cold and heat and water didn’t really bother him, he would have gladly given it to Frisk. He still had so many  _ questions _ , but he doubted that she would have many of the answers. Still, he had plenty to think about as they walked together. Frisk even started skipping over puddles and humming cheerfully as she walked in the light rain, despite her previous statement of dislike toward water.

At least, until it started raining harder, and her good mood seemed to wash away altogether.

“Not much further now,” he tried to reassure her, but it didn’t seem to do much good. Frisk stomped along with her head down, sticking as close to him as she possibly could and shivering against the cold. Weird that a revenant with seemingly powerful supernatural abilities would be put out by something as simple as a little rain. Was she really that bothered by a little bit of water? It really wasn’t that bad. But maybe he was just jaded as all hell. Who could tell. He shrugged internally and let out a fresh sigh of relief as he spotted the flickering neon sign in the heavy rain, his grin growing wide as he pointed up to it. Frisk followed his trail and stared in uncertainty, he had momentarily forgotten that she couldn’t read. He really would have to rectify that as soon as he possibly could. 

“Welcome!” Sans pushed open the heavy steel door with a little frame set in the upper center. “Welcome, kid, to the best pub in Under City -- welcome to  _ Grillby’s. _ ”

It was the scent that always hit him first.

The light smell of charcoal and cinnamon in the air, the gentle wafting of warm cozy atmosphere and hot cider, the way he could almost taste the burgers and fries that Grillby’s was so well known for despite the fact that Sans came there almost exclusively for the drinks. He took in a deep breath through his nostril bone, a rare, tender, genuinely happy smile spreading across his face. He glanced down to see Frisks’s reaction to the place, and was mildly surprised to see her looking  _ much  _ more foul tempered than before. But that might have also had something to do with just how utterly soaked she was. Her hair was completely matted to her head and flattened, her too big sweater was dripping water all over the floor, her shorts were bunched up and only had a single dry handprint where she had tried to keep her violently shaking cold hands, and her shoes made wet squelching noises every time she moved. In short, she looked like a wild cat that someone had rudely dumped a bucket of water on and was  _ none _ too pleased with the result.

“... What’s so funny?” Frisk shivered despite the warmth of Grillby’s, and Sans just shook his head. It stopped being quite so funny when she looked close to tears, however. His soul twinged and ached at the sight. He quietly took off his wet jacket and held the books in his other hand and carefully, slowly draped it around her shoulders, and she looked up at him in confusion. He only shook his head and motioned for her to follow, which she did without question.

The monsters here generally had the presence-of-mind not to stare too much, which he was grateful for. A rabbit monster sitting looking bored in the corner was the only one to actually stop drinking mid-sip and stare at them before promptly shrugging and returning to her beverage. He spotted a couple of dog monsters playing poker at a large table beneath a slowly twirling ceiling fan, the thick cloying scent of smoking dog biscuits greeting him as Doggo gave him a distracted two finger salute before returning to his card game. Sans spent so many evenings at Grillby’s that there were hardly any regular patrons that  _ didn’t _ recognize him.

The slightly dim lighting was counteracted by the vibrant fire elemental standing comfortably behind the bar, leaning against the counter top and polishing a glass with a cloth. His glasses reflected the light coming from within him and Sans saw his face dancing in those spectacles for all but a moment, his smile widening as he dropped into a seat in front of him. He patted the barstool next to him, and Frisk clambered atop it somewhat clumsily in his jacket, still shivering but clearly doing better now that she had an additional layer of warmth to help.

“ _ Grillby, _ ” Sans leaned on the bar and almost hummed. “My favorite bartender. How ya been, my man?”

“I’ve been wondering about you,” Grillby leaned in close, the warmth of the fire elemental not the only reason that Sans’s face was heating up. He blinked uncertainly, his head swimming with all sorts of rampant thoughts that he most certainly had not been expecting to have - “More specifically, wondering when you’re going to  _ pay your tab, Sans. _ ”

Sans leaned back and laughed a little too loudly, the relief rushing through his bones. He hadn’t been expecting his old friend to hit him with the flirts like that, but hey, his day had been crazy already, so why not a little more?

“When I get the cash, Grillbz, I swear,” Sans shrugged with a lopsided grin. Grillby only shook his head and sighed, putting a shot glass on the counter top.

“The usual?”

“You know me so well,” he winked. Grillby nodded and poured him a vibrant crimson fluid that bubbled and fizzed, and Frisk stared with wide eyes as he downed the entire thing in one shot. Her brows furrowed and she poked him in the shoulder, and he carefully placed the now empty glass on the counter and swiveled slightly to face her.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Sans asked, already in a much better mood now that he had some liquid warmth coursing through his bones. Good  _ god _ he needed that.

“How come you only get such a little cup of soda?” Frisk asked in confusion. Sans blinked before snorting and covering his mouth, even Grillby seemed slightly amused. 

“You wanna try some?” he offered. Grillby no longer seemed too amused, and his gaze narrowed onto Sans, but the stocky skeleton was finding it harder to really care at the moment. 

“Sure!” Frisk chirruped eagerly, bouncing up and down on her seat. Grillby slowly crossed his arms and faced Sans, the skeleton’s grin straining.

“... Aw, c’mon, Grillbz,” Sans tried putting on his best winning smile. “Ya only live once. B’sides, she’s got adult supervision.”

“That’s only one of my many, many concerns,” Grillby let out a puff of smoke through his small pointed fiery nose.

“Aww, please, Mister Grillby?” Frisk fluttered her eyelashes and Sans noted immediately (and somewhat uncomfortably) that her eyes had somehow shifted back into that deep crimson color again. And, against all odds, regardless of the staunch stance Grillby had been taking only moments before, despite just how blatantly poised he had been a mere few seconds before to slap down such a ludicrous request, he actually stopped everything he was doing and poured them a drink.

Sans couldn’t believe his eye sockets.

_ How in the hell did she do that…? _

Grillby suddenly shook his head as if to clear it of fog and opened his mouth to protest as Frisk squealed happily and clutched the glass between her hands and shotgunned it. Somewhere in the back of his head, Sans vaguely remembered that his research said… something about this? He dug around in his pockets and fished out a few crumpled pieces of paper and opened them, they had crossed-off powers that he had been able to dig up, but Frisk said she didn’t possess like a ghost or specter or something. Scanning down the page, one bony phalange stopped a third of the way down and tapped something that read like a silly random piece from a role playing game he’d heard of before: charm person.    
  
That’s right, vampires were supposed to be able to use a supernatural charisma and a bit of hypnosis to push people into obeying them, was that what Frisk just did? But she wasn’t a vampire, right? She wasn’t allergic to sunlight or anything, and couldn’t turn into a bat, if those weren’t just old wive’s tales. Why did she say that she couldn’t do it? Was it possible that she genuinely didn’t understand what she had done? Had she been deceiving him? Sans looked miserably at the list he had compiled, if that was the case then he was back to square one: trying to figure out what the hell powers she  _ did  _ and did  _ not  _ have.

“Sans,” Grillby’s voice had a hint of steel, “I think we need to  _ talk _ , don’t you?”

_ Aw, fuck my face and fondle my fartknocker.  _

“Closing time,” Grillby hardly had to speak up at all but still somehow managed to make his voice heard above the quietly ringing jukebox in the corner. Everyone perked up upon hearing him and started to clear out without question, with the exemption of a couple of monsters that were unused to Grillby and his personal hours or personality, and were quickly ushered out by the dog monsters who left their poker game unfinished, even leaving their dog biscuits still smoking in the ash tray. Sans  _ knew _ that he had screwed up, even though he wasn’t entirely certain as to what he did or how he did it, but he knew when he’d gone too far. Sans of all people could read Grillby like an open book.

And that open book was screaming _royally_ _pissed._

Grillby ushered the rest of the patrons out the door, then locked it, pulling the blinds closed and shutting off the jukebox. Somehow even those simple actions made Sans tense, while Frisk was blissfully unaware, humming a tuneless melody while kicking her feet, head tilting from side-to-side in time with the long gone beat. Did this kid just have no sense of danger whatsoever? Sans was sweating bullets at this point, dreading trying to get up from his seat for fear of further angering the flaming bartender. And to think, just a short while ago he had been in  _ such _ a good mood. It had all been going so well, too. And, of course, just like clockwork, the universe just had to bend him over and ravish him with its cosmic cock. Again. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Sans had seen Grillby plenty of times. He had seen the bartender tired on late nights, cheerful on early mornings, irritated when his daughter brought home some ragamuffin, even downright disgruntled when Sans had shared some of his close-to-the-chest horror stories.

But Sans had never,  _ ever _ seen Grillby like this. When Grillby got angry, he did not shout. When Grillby got angry, he did not get loud. When Grillby got angry, he did not get violent.

When Grillby got angry, he got  _ cold. _

Sans could  _ feel _ the temperature steadily dropping in the room as the fire elemental’s flickering flame danced and shimmered to a dark, violent shade of cerulean and violet, mingling together like watercolors in living motion. Were he not so completely thrown off by the sudden and unexpected mood change in Grillby, he would have even said that he looked attractive when he was angry, but felt that saying that was as good as begging to be dusted. Grillby slowly, calmly, finally stood behind the bar before them both, crossing his arms as his flickering flames dancing across his head gradually began to dwindle back and forth between violet and orange.

“Explain.”

Sans exhaled, looking mournfully at the empty glass in front of him, it’d be a hell of a lot easier with a bit more liquid courage, but Grillby wouldn’t - amber liquid splashed into the glass, Grillby refilling the drink for the skeleton. 

He must have  _ REALLY _ wanted some answers.

Sans downed it, letting his nerves settle, then heaved a big sigh once more, giving a flimsy gesture to the kid. How to even begin? Where was he supposed to start? Could he even confide in Grillby the kind of things he’d only recently discovered about the kid? About himself?

“So… you ever heard of a ‘revenant’?”

“Holy  _ shit. _ ”

Sans half choked on his drink, sputtering in disbelief and staring at the bartender. In all his years, in all of the talks he had with Grillby, with every discussion he’d ever had with the monster, he had never,  _ ever _ heard him swear. More oddities by the day, it seemed.

“Holy shit,” Frisk repeated cheerfully, like nothing was wrong at all, just swinging her legs back and forth. “Holy shit, holy shit!”

“They, uh… pick up language pretty quick,” he shifted uncomfortably under the monster’s stern gaze.

“So I see,” Grillby stated simply, crossing his arms again. Then he uncrossed them and stared at the revenant, then to Sans, crossed his arms, and repeated the process a couple of times before giving up and pouring himself a shot and taking a swift drink. He downed it all in one go, and Sans was a little surprised to see that Grillby’s flames didn’t turn purple or blue like he expected, but rather, a shocking shade of pink. It died back down to his regular color after half a minute, and he shook his head and then poured himself another drink, and one for Sans.

“I, uh… met ‘em in an alley,” Sans admitted, unsure as to why he was even telling Grillby this part. He knew it was a bad idea, he felt it in his  _ core _ , but he just wanted someone, anyone to talk to about all of this craziness. “Last night. Found a bunch o’ those ‘Guardians of Humanity’ fucks torturin’ some poor woman.”   
“Did… did they…?”   
“Didn’t even stand a chance. Outnumbered ‘er four ta one. She dusted,” Sans felt like being sick, downing the shot of alcohol and letting the burning liquid seep into his bones, granting him just a bit more strength to keep going. Frisk was watching him with a strange intensity, he could feel it from the side of his eye sockets, but he didn’t look at them. He didn’t look at Grillby, either. He couldn’t bring himself to look at either of them, knowing just how badly he had failed that lone woman, cornered and desperate and alone in an alley and begging for help.

And he had considered walking right on by because he ‘didn’t want to get involved’. God how he hated himself.

“They had knives,” Sans didn’t look up from his now empty shot glass, his chest feeling weirdly hollow. “Had my ol’ pistol on me though. Thought I had ‘em by the balls, but one of ‘em caught me from b’hind,” he was slurring but he didn’t care anymore, Grillby’s hands trembling as he poured them both another drink. Frisk’s motion of pouring herself a little into a shot glass went either unnoticed or ignored, and Sans didn’t care which anymore. Right now, he wasn’t in the bar.

_ He was back there all over again, grenades exploding left and right, hot screaming mortar shells flying overhead like terrible engines of destruction. Rapid fire on his sides, in front and behind, no escaping except to dig into the trench and cling to each other for dear life. The monster to his side was shaking and crying with his four lost fingers, barely even keeping it together as he loaded his rifle - and then the flechettes caught him from the side, and he exploded in a shower of dust. Sans couldn’t tell who was yelling anymore, his squad or him, the taste of dust and blood in his mouth as the human he’d been drinking and playing poker with only a couple of hours before was suddenly torn into ribbons- _

Sans blinked the tears out of his eye sockets, barely registering that he had been rocking back and forth on his stool. He tried to wipe his face but couldn’t move his hand at all, and it took him a moment to realize why; Frisk was gently holding his hand to her chest, giving him such a soft, compassionate sort of look that it made his soul ache. He didn’t deserve a gaze so kind. Cowards like him deserved so much worse.

“Bad men,” Both Grillby and Sans jumped in surprise at the tiny voice, Frisk had lowered her gaze to stare at her hands with an uncomfortable intensity, “Bad, bad… hurt nice lady, she gave cookies. But then was going to hurt Mister Skeleton, who has a very nice smile,” Sans wasn’t sure how to feel about that, “Couldn’t let that happen. Was hungry, was mad, so  _ hungry _ …” Frisk looked up at Grillby, her eyes blazing scarlet, “I stopped them, and I wasn’t hungry anymore.”

You could have heard a pin drop.

“Hail Mary,” Grillby motioned a slow deliberate cross over his chest, his spectacles fogging a little. 

“Hate ta break it to ya, Grillbz,” Sans took in a deep breath through his nostril bone, leveling an uneasy look between him and the kid. “But I don’t think heaven’s gonna be weighin’ in on this one.”

Frisk lowered her head once more, the scarlet glow fading from her eyes, and she clutched the skeleton’s hand closer, she was shaking and this time Sans was pretty sure it wasn’t from the cold. 

“Am… I bad?” 

“Aw, shit,” Sans mumbled and ran a hand down his face. “No, no kiddo, that-that’s not what I meant at all. You’re just… you-you know…” he struggled, clearly having difficulty finding the right words to ease their troubled spirit. “Uh.  _ Different. _ ”

“You’re a good girl,” Sans couldn’t deny the unexpected swell of envy in his chest at Grillby’s words, at the confidence and certainty with which he spoke, “They were bad men, they were hurting good people, and you stopped them. That’s what a good person does.”

Maybe he wouldn’t have sounded quite so sure of himself had he witnessed firsthand what she was capable of doing to someone when she was hungry. Or maybe he was just a jaded bastard. Sans wasn’t sure which answer he hated more. But that raised a very serious question, one that he most certainly did not want to address, and one that he very much needed to no matter how badly he wanted to avoid it.

What was going to happen when she inevitably got hungry again…?

“What’s your name, little one?” Sans was grateful for the distraction, the coward he was, Grillby was studying the girl who perked up, the uncertainty, fear and sadness washing away to be replaced by a warm chipperness that looked far more at home on her face.

“Frisk, but Mister Sans calls me Little Shit too,” She tilted her head in curiosity while Grillby shot Sans a heated glare, “Is Holy Shit the same as Little Shit?”

“I don’t know,” Grillby gave him such a heated (hah) glower that Sans was surprised his marrow wasn’t already boiling. “Tell me.  _ Is  _ it, Sans? Hmm?”

“... You just seem real intent on diggin’ me a deeper grave, don’tcha kiddo,” Sans groaned and rubbed his face tiredly. But instead Frisk only tittered in a light little laugh, which in turn caused him to start smiling despite himself and his stubborn determination to be a sourpuss.

“Well Frisk,” Grillby turned his gaze back to the petite revenant, “Did anything else happen?” Sans’ bones felt cold, he had forgotten that little event that followed her fight and feeding, hadn’t he? The skeleton internally braced himself, eyes closing and teeth gritting.

“Well,” Frisk counted off on her fingers. “I got real hungry, so I ate. And then Mister Sans was hurt real bad, so I helped him. And then after that he was real real nice to me, and gave me nice new clothes right away!”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah! And then he showed me where he lives and I met a giant cockroach named Chuck,” Frisk continued with all the seriousness that only she could deliver. “Chuck watches his shit.”

“Sans,” Grillby repeated in that dangerous tone, and the skeleton flinched. He laughed nervously and made the small motion of holding a shovel and digging.

“And then Mister Sans gave me something called ‘see-real’, it was  _ see real good _ !” Frisk sounded so proud of herself for the pun. “And then I drank a soda pop and got real dizzy and fell asleep and then I woke up and then we went to a book building and I climbed up real high and we walked here in the rain and-”

“Alright, alright, okay,” Grillby held up his hands passively, uncertain as to how to handle the overwhelming amount of information being thrown at him. But he smiled nonetheless, he was reminded of Fuku when she was younger, always so eager and excited about everything and happy to share literally every single moment of her day with whoever would listen. His flames died down a little and softened in brightness, and Sans let out a silent breath he didn’t know he had been holding, so intense was his worry. But it seemed that he had nothing to fear, after all.

“Oh, and then Mister Sans and me did a ‘soul bond’, whatever that is-”

Grillby promptly  _ exploded. _

_ Fuck my face. _

“...Sans,” Grillby’s voice was more tense then pressurized steel, “Can you come to the back with me, I need some help with something.” Idly, the skeleton couldn’t help but wonder if Dust a La Skeleton would be the secret ingredient in tomorrow’s pancakes.

“Bring me back some see-real!” Frisk stated cheerfully as Sans was marched to his inevitable death. He swore, that little shit was  _ trying _ to get him killed. And if she was, she was doing a fantastic job of it, because Grillby was going to fry him to a crisp, and he’d deserve it, too.

They didn’t stop until they had reached the back office, Grillby’s flames barely held in check, perhaps that’s why the fire elemental had chosen this particular place for their…  _ discussion _ , all the paper would help him keep his literal explosive temper. 

“Explain.” The furious barkeeper demanded, well at least Sans would get to decide what his last words were. If he had his way about it, they would likely be something along the lines of ‘fan-fucking-tastic’.

“Wish I could Grillbz,” Sans surprised himself with how relaxed he sounded, especially given his imminent demise, “But I didn’ really have much say in it. Kid somehow did it while I was down’n’out.” 

“And you actually expect me to believe that a human performed monster soul bonding magic?” Grillby asked in a quiet, dangerous tone, every punctuation just a hint more angry with every word.

“Nope,” Sans responded with fatal cheerfulness, “That’d be crazy, but I aint talkin’ bout a human. Kid’s a revenant. Remember?” For the life of him, the skeleton couldn’t ‘understand why he seemed so hellbent on antagonizing Grillby with a devil-may-care attitude.

“That…  _ thing _ she did,” Grillby hesitated for a moment, actually pinching the bridge of his fiery nose beneath his spectacles and pushing his glasses upward. “With my head. How… how did she do that?”

“No idea,” Sans answered honestly. “Kid seems ta have all sorts of freaky weird ass superpowers, I ain’t sure even she knows all about ‘em. Seems like it’s somethin’ new every hour, and it’s been drivin’ me up the damned wall.”

“A  _ revenant, _ ” Grillby breathed shakily, pulling away, and Sans let out a quiet puff of air through his teeth. At least the bartender seemed to have momentarily forgotten about turning him into skeleton flambe for the time being. “Mother Mary, Sans. I thought they were all wiped out in the Dust War.”

“So did I,” Sans admitted grimly. “But most revenants are supposed to be giant scary lookin’ things, right? So, what’s up with her? She’s got all the  _ traits _ down pat,” he ran a hand over his head, thinking heavily. “At least, the abilities. Her capacity for mimicry is actually pretty damned impressive. But she ain’t no humongous soul snatchin’ nightmare. I mean, she’s… she’s just a  _ kid, _ ” he wished that he had his jacket so that he at least would have some pockets to put his hands in so that Grillby wouldn’t see how badly he was shaking.

“So maybe she’s not a revenant?” he asked.

“That’s what I thought too,” Sans leaned against the door and let his skull hit the wood. “But it just didn’t add up. From all recorded knowledge, revenants use some kind of soul mojo that’s different from what normal humans or monsters use - I think they call it…  _ determination. _ ”

“I see…” Grillby stated after a stretch of silence, chin held in his hand, covering his mouth as he thought. “You… said that she  _ bonded _ with you. Explain.”

“It wasn’t like monster magic at all,” Sans shifted uneasily, unused to the absolutely withering glare from the fire elemental. “Hell, like nothin’ I’ve ever seen. She patched me up when I was on death’s doorstep, half a step away from bein’ dusted and saved my sorry ass without even askin’ a single thing in return. And the next thing I know, she’s leanin’ over me, an… makin’ me feel  _ weird _ .” 

“That would be the soul bond,” Grillby muttered to himself, “They make you feel better with your bonded, happy, protective, all sorts of things.” 

“Have you been bonded before, Grillbz?”

“... Once,” he replied softly, turning his gaze away from him and staring long and hard at something that only he could see. “A long… long time ago.”

“Ah. I’m… I’m sorry,” Sans bowed his head respectfully, and was a little surprised to find the warm, large hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t you let  _ anything _ happen to that little one,” Grillby warned him in a soft, gentle tone, but that rough squeeze of the shoulder belied a tension and restrained power that went unspoken but not unheard. “You protect her, with your  _ life _ . Understand?”

“Where’s this comin’ from, Grillbz?” Sans stared up at him in uncertainty.

“Simple yes or no, Sans.”

“Wh- yeah, of  _ course _ I will, ya fuckin’ hothead,” he rolled his hand off with a snort. “Christ, you really think I’m that heartless?”

“You don’t have any organs,” Grillby pointed out.

“Oh I’ll give  _ you _ an organ,” Sans grinned widely and Grillby only rolled his eyes. But the tension was broken, there was peace amongst them once again, Sans could feel it. Or maybe that was the alcohol sinking into his system. Either way, it felt… nice.

“I don’t know if that was your idea of flirting, but I’ll take a rain check,” Now it was Sans’ turn to stare.

“Yer lackluster sex life aside,” Sans’ face flushed an indignant blue.

“I’m serious Sans; you need to protect her. Losing a bonded is… there are many monsters who don’t survive it. The trauma is indescribable, and it never truly stops.” That was sobering, and also thankfully gave the skeleton a few minutes to regain his composure and pointedly ignore Grillby’s much more skilled counter-flirting. Wait, no, he hadn’t been flirting, what the hell Grillby? 

“Don’ worry Grillbz, I’ll take care of ‘er, b’sides; I got a lotta questions and not a lotta answers. Can ya come back to the bar? I got somethin’ fer ya ta look into for me, a bracelet.”

“Oh goodie, we’re making friendship bracelets now?” Grillby teased as he walked ahead of him, tilting his head back so that he could see the light smirk on the elemental’s face. “Why Sans, how very forward of you.”

“... C’mon man, not in front of the kid,” he whined, actually  _ whined _ , but it was all for show and they both knew it. Grillby just chuckled and shook his head, patting Frisk on the head as he returned. She gave an odd sort of chirrup and wriggled around as if afraid of being burned, but after she realized that everything was fine she promptly grabbed Grillby’s hand without asking and held it close to her face, inspecting it carefully.

“Uh, kid-”

“Gimme a second,” Frisk held up a single finger to him, and he silenced himself. Grillby, instead of growing irritated or impatient, simply gave him a single smug look and made a quiet whipping noise. Sans ground his teeth but bit his tongue. He had  _ just  _ slipped away from being roasted alive, he didn’t need to go for round two with the walking furnace. Eventually Frisk released his hand and gave a pleased sort of noise, giving him a sort of appraising look.

“You’re good,” Frisk nodded after a moment. “I can tell.”

“Oh, can you now?” Grillby asked, and Sans couldn’t tell if he was feigning interest or not. “How fascinating.”   
“Yeah, I’m good at that kind of thing. You’re a good dad.”

Grillby  _ froze _ all of a sudden, very certain that he had said nothing at all about his family to the revenant. 

“... She’s just kinda like that sometimes,” Sans explained with a handwave. “Don’t let it get to ya, hotpants.”

“So, let’s talk about this bracelet - I’m sorry,” Grillby seemed to halt in his tracks and blinked. “Did you just call me  _ hotpants? _ ”

“Got it right here,” Sans motioned for his jacket from Frisk and she passed it to him, now completely dry from remaining in the dry and warmth of the pub. He dug in the inner pocket for a few seconds until he found what he was looking for, clasping it in one hand and dropping it into Grillby’s outstretched palm.

The fire elemental sighed, mentally shoving aside Sans’ attempts at making him blush, didn’t the skeleton remember that he worked at a bar? He got hit on at least five times every night with varying levels of sobriety. Examining it closely, Grillby frowned, rubbing his thumb against the line of numbers. Like Sans he had concluded that it was some kind of serial number, though the exact purpose mystified him. However, there was something here that bothered him more than the serial number, it was the name etched into the metal: Frisk. That was a monster name, not a human name, and that made him uncomfortable for all sorts of reasons, fortunately he was a bit more socially aware than his friend, so when he spoke to Frisk, he did so with a warm and non-aggressive tone. 

“Frisk, did your Mommy and Daddy call you that?” Sans furrowed his brow, clearly confused as to where Grillby was going with this line of questioning, but the fire elemental didn’t deign to enlighten him. The little one shook her head, kicking her feet playfully, while beaming up at the barkeeper, who toyed with the bracelet. “I see, do you remember your mommy or daddy?” the girl stopped kicking her feet and shook her head, her smile melting slightly, yet Grillby pressed on, “Oh, well then who gave you that name, little one?” Her smile had almost faded entirely and now she was fidgeting nervously with her sleeves. 

“The Smiley Face,” she explained quietly, “He gave us all names.” Sans felt his grin stretching wider more out of habit to disguise his discomfort than anything, “I… don’t like talking about him.” Grillby looked down at the bracelet once more, it was strange how little the girl had said, and yet how much she had communicated. Thankfully, the barkeeper backed off that line of questioning and instead patted her head once more with a warm, flaming hand. 

“Good girl, thank you for answering my questions.” She lit up like a light bulb at the praise, and her feet began to kick again, as the bartender pocketed the bracelet then went over to do… something behind the counter. Frisk leaned over to watch, fascinated but Sans had no interest; he was still wrestling with what the little girl had said and the implications behind it. As a former soldier he had heard stories in the war, and while he had never personally encountered an amalgam or a revenant (until now,) he HAD seen the mess they left behind. This had, naturally, led to a lot of speculation about what they must look like, and soldiers of different ranks swearing up and down that they had seen one. A lot of late night fires and drinks had dragged out stories about a unit coming across the remains of an enemy group, their bodies shredded, faces frozen in terror, dust in the wind, all agreed that there was no way anything short of some giant horror could have done it. Those were always laughed off as bullshit, as they rightly should have been. Just tall stories and nonsense to stir up the listeners.

But such a thing couldn’t be natural, they hadn’t existed before The Dust Wars, just in fairy tales and bedtime stories to scare little monsters and humans into behaving. But the war breaks out and suddenly these stories started feeling all too real, igniting the childhood fears of anyone who had heard them from their parents. Of course that meant that someone had to be making them, but why keep doing it after the war? What was the purpose? There was also the issue of this ‘Smiling Man’ or ‘Smiley Face’ or whatever, just the name alone sent shivers down the skeleton’s spine. It sounded like the kind of name one would give to The Boogeyman, and judging from the kid’s reactions, he may not be that far off the mark. 

“Here you are little one,” Sans glanced up as Grillby approached the child, and placed a large chocolate milkshake down in front of her, the girl’s eyes lighting up, and she wiggled - literally wiggled - in glee. Obviously, she had no clue what this was, but she did recognize free food, and like the black hole of hunger she was, barely managed to get a ‘thank you’ out before she began to suck on the straw. 

Did… she just moan? Sure chocolate was great, every kid loved chocolate, but that was a bit of a dramatic reaction, wasn’t it?

It didn’t stop there, either. Sans was  _ pretty _ sure he knew how to drink a milkshake, and even more certain that she did not a second afterwards, as Frisk promptly  _ slapped _ her face down into the drink and began to slurp noisily at it, clutching the glass and pulling it close to her face, chugging the entire thing in one go. She eventually leaned back on the stool and belched in satisfaction, chocolate everywhere, with the  _ goofiest _ looking happy grin on her face he had ever seen.

“Ffffffff _ uck _ yes,” Frisk sighed, chocolate ice cream still dripping from her face. Grillby just stared at the display in mild amusement, eventually turning his gaze to Sans, who was still trying to process what had just happened.

“You really need to watch your language around the little one,” Grillby warned him. He pulled a large cloth out from behind the counter and handed it to Frisk, who only stared at him for a moment. Sans felt mildly called out at that. For all he knew the kid could have picked up that fucking language anywhere - then again, maybe Grillby had a point. He usually did.

“... What’s this for?”

“For your face,” he replied.

“... But what for?”

Grillby sighed and took the cloth in one fiery hand, helping her to clean up the mess she had made. She wiggled in irritation but stayed seated, making several displeased noises when he had to clean up the ice cream even from her eyebrows, Sans had no idea how she’d even managed that.

Well, this had been surreal as hell, but Sans also felt a little lighter knowing that at least Grillby was aware of the situation. Also not being dead, that was nice. The fiery barkeep had more connections than Sans, it was astonishing what people would disclose whilst drunk, and so he could probably find out more about the bracelet. Someone in Grillby’s position always seemed to pick up information. With luck, Sans could figure out who was making more Revenants and, if that was even what happened and… his mind trailed off, the skeleton’s face marred with a slight and uncharacteristic frown. 

And do what, exactly? 

Sans glanced over at Frisk who was giggling and holding Grillby’s burning hand against her cheek, there was so much raw innocence there, the kind that one couldn’t fake, yet underneath that was a hunger, a predatory hunger that he had seen first hand. The duality was disturbing. Was Grillby really unafraid of her? He was a bit bolder than he gave him credit for. Maybe… maybe if he could find out more, he could find a way to reverse it, so the kid could just be a regular human, one that didn’t crave blood and have glowing red eyes. Sans exhaled, forcing the grin back onto his face and stood, it had stopped raining outside but was likely to be humid as hell, but that was Under City weather for you: always varying degrees of shitty.

The books were still piled up on the bar, and Sans single mindedly stacked them all together and drummed his phalanges in a tuneless rhythm over the top. Maybe he would dig up something helpful, maybe he was chasing smoke. There was really only one way to find out.

“Rain’s let up,” he rested a hand on Frisk’s shoulder, who blinked at him, turning and glancing out through the shaded windows to see that he was indeed correct. “Mind if I take that jacket back now, pal?”

  
  


Frisk huffed in response, and tightened her arms around herself in a hug while her cheeks inflated in a comical, yet adorable pout. She shook her head wildly, her still damp hair waving about and making light slapping noises as it smacked her face, leaving wet splatters.

“... C’mon, pal. Don’t make this any harder than it has ta be,” he tried his best to be patient with her, resisting the sudden and strange urge to pat her on the head despite feeling that he might lose a finger or two in the process if he tried. Frisk finally sighed and slumped forward, eventually peeling off the jacket, but still clinging to it and clutching it to her chest, chocolate eyes large and honest. It was hard for him not to feel like he had just kicked someone’s puppy.

“But it smells like you…” she whined, “I like it.” Sans genuinely did not know how to respond to that, his mind going blank for a few seconds, even a younger Papyrus at his most clingy was never like this. Grillby was studying the two’s exchange intently but not saying anything, maybe he was seeing something Sans didn’t? Gods he was overthinking this.

“... Tell ya what,” he settled for bargaining with her. “If ya behave, you can wear it all ya want when we get home. Sound good to you, buddy?”

Frisk balanced her options for several long moments before slowly, at long last,  _ finally _ giving him back his patched up black jacket. He slipped it on and felt a small rush of relief that all of his personal effects were still right where he left them.

Besides, he really didn’t want to leave the kid with a jacket that still had a loaded gun in it. Granted,  _ maybe _ he should have thought of that a little sooner, but no harm, no foul, right? Sans didn’t really want to admit it, but the jacket felt a little like armor, sure it offered little real protection aside from a minor enchantment, but it had been with him through some of the most violent and terrible nights. All the patches on it weren’t strictly from everyday wear-and-tear afterall, but the old ratty thing still made him feel stronger, ready to face anything. Well, anything that wasn’t a ten year old kid with big soulful eyes, how do you defend against that?

“You will let me know what you discover immediately,” Grillby stated aloud, leaning on the bar. More of a command than anything, and Sans wasn’t in the mood to argue with the bartender. 

“Aye, you too Grillbz,” Sans responded with as much apathetic charm as he could muster, as grumpy as he was feeling, the skeleton knew that it was in both their best interests to share as much information as possible. He couldn’t reasonably expect Grillby to dig up much with Sans holding out on him, and vice versa.

Didn’t mean he had to like it though.

“Let’s go squirt,” books under one arm, and the small hand of the petite revenant in the other, the pair made their way out of the restaurant, Grillby unlocking the door for them. Frisk bellowed a chipper ‘bye Mister Grillby’ at him and continued along, making Sans and her look every bit the father and daughter they absolutely were not.

Sans silently gave him a two finger salute without looking back, and he didn’t have to turn to know that Grillby was nodding him goodbye, like he always did. It was a quiet sort of companionship the two had developed over the years, and with as shaky as it had gotten today Sans was still just a teensy bit fearful that speaking would only cause further disparities amongst them. So he kept his mouth closed and his smile wide, embracing the warm, damp wind of Under City, the sounds of traffic and busy evening populace that had been held at bay by Grillby’s place swarming him all at once. When he was much younger it all felt so overwhelming every time he stepped outside, all of the nonstop days and nightlife of the city seemed so impossible to maintain for anyone. But as he aged, he grew to really appreciate Under City in its own special, run down, fucked up way. It kept on going, no matter what. People still fought onward despite the looming threat of yet another war on the horizon overseas, monsters and humans alike pulling together to make each day just a bit more bearable. That or shout profanity at each other and take a drunken leak in an alley.

God he loved this city.

“What was in the drink Mister Grillby gave me?” the kid chirruped, looking up at Sans, there was so much unbridled wide-eyed curiosity and innocence, it honestly made Sans a little… uncomfortable,.he was worried he might do something to somehow damage the little one. He’d seen what she could do when she was hungry, shouldn’t he be more afraid of being damaged himself? But he still couldn’t quite shake the feeling.

“Eh… it was chocolate, why? Ya like it kiddo?” her nod was encouraging, and she shared a bit grin with him, one that was far more honest than his own plastic smile. 

“Uh-huh, I did wanna bite some bad people, but now I don’t!” Sans felt like he was kicked in the gut, and it took a herculean effort not to overly react to what she had said, and draw attention to them.

“O-Oh is that so? Well that’s good kiddo, I-I’ll make sure ya get more.” he stumbled over his words, mind whirling; he had almost managed to forget that she needed more than just cereal and alcohol. She was a revenant (if that was indeed the case, and evidence just kept piling up in favor of that theory), and that would inevitably entail her needing the kind of thing he couldn’t just pick up at a marketplace. 

He would need to provide her with real food, and he silently thanked the heavens that his brother was such a blessing on everyone around him, bringing him groceries when he wouldn’t have even been able to focus long enough to get them for all of his worries. In fact, he probably would have gone straight home and opened up the cabinets only to discover that they were all empty, remember that they were empty and mentally kick himself, then treat himself to a dinner of liquor and pass out in his recliner again. It took only a short detour to grab some much needed alcohol on the way back to the apartments, yet weirdly enough, he wasn’t really in the mood to drink his worries away like he usually was.

In fact, he had a bizarre craving, one that he almost never had. It was intense, a rush of hunger that came almost out of nowhere.

He needed  _ chocolate. _

Sans shook off the weird craving, if he had ears they would be ringing. That bizarre  _ flashing _ was back in his left eye socket and he rubbed it away with his palm, only briefly letting go of Frisk’s hand in order to do so. It wasn’t a good idea to get separated in a place like this, even if Grillby’s was located in a bit better of a neighborhood than his own run down home, it still made him worry. He smiled when he glanced down to Frisk as they walked together, the revenant girl humming a tuneless song as she hopped effortlessly over puddles. It had been a long time since he cared about anyone other than himself or his brother. He’d almost forgotten just what it felt like, that warm little sensation just under his ribs, beating steadily like a hopeful drum.

But he couldn’t go losing himself in an emotion. Not now. Not ever, ever again. Stay apathetic. Stay smiling. Don’t let anyone guess, don’t let anyone get close.

_ That’s how you lose them. _

His smile slowly fell from his face, a grim forced smile plastered over his pain. No, he’d made that mistake already. He was past that point in his life. He needed to be analytical and critical at all times. Trust no one and nothing, not even himself. 

But there were some exceptions, of course. Someone like Papyrus, he could be trusted.

Grillby.

_ Frisk. _

Sans wasn’t entirely certain if she  _ could _ be entirely trusted, and the contemplation didn’t sit too well with him at all. Granted, she was a killer…

But so was he.

He wasn’t really in a position to judge anyone for their sins when he bore so very many on his shoulders. He could almost feel the weight of them on his back as he tiredly pushed open the front door to the weathered apartment complex, the dim lighting buzzing above him. At least the lobby had one of those newfangled air conditioning machines to offset the outside heat. It added to the pleasant relaxing sensation he could  _ almost _ feel, being so close to his room. The anticipation added to the relief anyway.

“Hey sugar,” Sans shifted the books in his arms and the cream colored bunny monster behind the desk peered over her glasses and put down the magazine to stare at him. “You want any seasoning?”   
“Why do I feel like I’m being set up for a bad joke again?” she smirked wryly at him, crossing her arms. Bunni was giving him  _ that _ look again, like she was deciding between greeting him and kicking him. But maybe that was just how she looked at everyone.

“Because you look like you could use a good  _ thyme _ ,” he winked, and she just groaned in disgust, but her smile revealed it all.

“Honey, I need you like I need a fifth husband,” she inspected her nails for a moment. “He didn’t even last a week, and he actually had some meat on ‘im if ya know what I mean, ya anorexic bastard.”

Sans just laughed and shook his head. She passed him his mail and looked to Frisk as if she was seeing her for the first time, actually pushing her glasses up and staring at the revenant for a long moment.

“Cute kid,” she said after a stretch of silence while Sans juggled the booze, the books and now the mail. More bills. What a surprise. “Where’d ya find this useless sack?”

“In an alley,” Sans frowned slightly, but was cut off when she held up a finger.

“I was talkin’ to the kid,” Bunni snorted, readjusting her glasses. Surprisingly, Frisk actually tittered a little, giving the woman a small smile.

“Mister Sans really isn’t so bad,” Frisk informed her sweetly. “You just have to get used to him being a dusty old fart is all.”

“I feel  _ attacked, _ ” Sans gasped in faux offense. Frisk just snickered again, hiding her smile behind her hand. “And after I get ya ice cream an’ everything?”

“Technically,” Frisk interjected. “That was Mister Grillby. You just flirted with him.”

“Wow, just  _ back the bus _ right up over me why don’t ya,” he grumbled, rolling his eye lights, but his smile was genuine. Little brat was developing a mouth on ‘em. That was a good thing, a quick wit was a good sign, but she needed to at least be careful of who she spoke like that around. Some people took offense a bit more easily than he did.

“I think I’m gonna like ‘er as much as I do your brother…” Bunni pulled out a small piece of monster candy from behind her desk, handing it to Frisk, to eagerly took it in both hands and bounced excitedly up and down.

“Ayy, eyes off my bro,” Sans was all business, shooting her a serious glare.

“What’s the matter, honey?” Bunni’s playful smirk widened. “Not gettin’ jealous of tall dark an’ handsome, are ya now?”

“Hey, plenty to be jealous of, ya know?” he tried to pass it off as a joke, despite just how thoroughly it had irked him. 

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded, turning back to her magazine distractedly. “ _ Love  _ me a man in uniform. Wham, bam, thank you  _ ma’am _ -”

“Okay yes thank you very much I get it,” Sans stomped off, pretending to be more interested in the books than continuing any conversation with the woman. Truth be told he was looking at them but wasn’t even reading the worn titles, his cheeks heated. He took the stairs two at a time before he remembered that he was with Frisk, realizing a little too late that he was almost  _ dragging _ her he was climbing so fervently up the steps, but she didn’t really seem to mind. Or, if she did, she wasn’t saying anything, which… bothered him.

Sans sighed and tried to brush it off, his protective instincts still just as burning and intense as ever. He would gladly have given his very life for his little brother. Sans loved him more than he loved his own life, even though he doubted he would ever be strong enough to admit such a statement to his own related bone and marrow. Papyrus wouldn’t think of him as weak for it, though, and that somehow made him feel even worse. No, Papyrus would just smile that lopsided little smile of his, give him some words of comfort, and do his best to hold him and make him feel loved. Papyrus was so very much unlike him. He was so much better than this rathole city deserved. He was a  _ good _ person.

_ He’s better than a monster like me ever deserved. _

“Hey, Chuck,” Sans waved half heartedly to the fat cockroach  _ still _ sitting on the wall outside his apartment. Chuck’s antennae waved back, but that was all the motion that he was getting from the insect. “Thanks for watchin’ the place for me. Here,” he released Frisk’s hand and dug in his pocket for a few seconds. He usually had all sorts of things stored in his pockets, hence his reluctance to ever be separated from his favorite jacket, and he managed to scrape a few sticky crumbs from a biscuit he’d had stored in his front pocket from a few days ago. He pressed them to the wall a few inches away from Chuck and the cockroach very gradually crawled his way over to the treat, antennae quivering back and forth. Sans smiled a little and unlocked the front door, opening the place up and letting out a long breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding until now.

“... Everything okay, Mister Sans?” Frisk asked while he flicked on the light switch, and it occurred to him that he had forgotten to pick up lightbulbs for the kitchen. Dammit.

“Fine,” he answered automatically, more out of habit than anything, and he dropped the odd collection of books he’d gathered onto the kitchen table, along with the paper bag of booze. He’d  _ definitely _ need that later if he wanted to get any sleep tonight. 

“You’re very protective of Mister Papyrus, aren’t you?”   
“What gave it away?” he opened the ice box and put in the booze, popping the top on a beer and taking a quick swig. Warm beer tasted terrible, but at least it was something, and after the day he’d had he welcomed the comforting embrace of alcohol. 

“You were thinking of him the whole way up here.”

Sans paused and blinked, watching as she made herself comfortable at the kitchen table despite the lack of proper lighting. It creeped him out, but she was right. Once more, Frisk displayed that strange capacity to just  _ know _ something without anyone needing to say it. He took a heavy drink after that. The idea crossed his mind to take the kid down to Vegas, they could probably make enough decent scratch to afford the whole damn building if she kept that up. Then again, a place as twisted as Vegas tended to chew people up and spit them out, monster and human alike. He didn’t care for the idea of dragging the revenant through that swamp of sin and debauchery just on the assumption that he might be able to turn a quick buck.

Frisk was giving him  _ that _ look again. The tilted, almost sad smile, that intense little stare like she was seeing right through him.

Like somehow, she just  _ knew _ .

It sent a shiver up his spine.

“Guess I’ll work on whippin’ us up some grub,” he shuffled away from her then, feeling strangely exposed before her gaze. “Why don’t ya pick out a book ya like, and I’ll read it to ya while we make some dinner, huh?”

“Okay!” Frisk nodded eagerly, pushing the whole stack of books over on the table noisily. She shuffled them around for a while, brows screwed up in concentration as she shifted from one to another, going from  _ Sanctity of Marriage and Soul Bonds _ all the way through the one on the bottom,  _ Myths and Mysteries of Recent History _ . She finally settled on one that she dug out between a picture book of different dogs, and a small smile grew on his face as he set about trying to prepare a small steak in the darkened kitchen. He didn’t know how Papyrus had gotten the kind of money he needed to blow it on steak, or why he’d throw it away on a waste of bones like him, but he was still grateful.

“Peekaboo With A Fluffy Bunny,” Sans nodded seriously, turning the stove on and dropping the steak into a pan, heating up some broccoli to be steamed with the meal. “Good choice.”   
“Papyrus loved this one when he was younger,” Frisk stated quietly, and he froze for all but a moment. He instead turned his attention to a short burlap bag of potatoes and began to peel them, taking a seat in the creaky chair next to Frisk. He wasn’t about to admit it, but she was right. Again. Just as the memory had surfaced in his mind, she just seemed to  _ know _ . He wondered if he needed to find a way to shield his mind; not for fear of having his thoughts invaded, but rather, out of a surprisingly intense compulsion to protect her.

To defend Frisk from the demons that lurked in the dark places in his head.

“... Peekaboo was a very fluffy bunny. A very fluffy bunny, was Peekaboo,,” he read slowly, straining his eye lights in the dark, but Frisk seemed to have no trouble seeing. She kept her finger trained on word after word and he read very slowly so as to allow her time to register which word was which, hoping that she would catch on quickly. But she seemed to be a pretty bright kid. It probably wouldn’t take long before she was reading all on her own, so he tried not to worry about it.

They ate in silence for a while, Frisk seemed thoroughly entranced by the picture book and it’s colorful images, even though she didn’t know the words she did her best to read it back to him by reciting what he’d said from memory. It was kind of adorable. Sans discovered a little too late the reason why Frisk was seemingly sucking on her steak; it’s because she was. He hadn’t cooked it all the way through, and instead of being displeased she actually seemed to like it that way, drinking the blood from the meat in a satisfied manner. It was more than a little off putting, but he pushed it down with the rest of the things that bothered him. It was a steadily growing list. Though he really shouldn’t have been too surprised, considering what he’d seen her eat already. He made a mental note to make her meats rare in the future.

There were no leftovers, which Sans was fine with. It meant less to deal with. The way that Frisk scarfed everything down left him slightly worried however. Just how often did she get hungry? Did revenants like her need to feed often?   
And just as importantly…

What was going to happen if he couldn’t feed her?

That twisting in his ephemeral gut came right back and he distracted himself with silently washing the dishes. He didn’t normally care for doing the washing up but at least it was something to distract his troubled mind. He didn’t want to focus on the multitude of questions trickling one after another through his head. He didn’t want to think of the various fears and worries that clung to him like a dreadful cloak. He didn’t want to be  _ conscious, _ and another beer was helping him down that road. The alcohol was taking longer and longer to sink in for some reason, it dimly occurred to him after his third beer. Frisk helped by drying up the dishes, though he realized only afterwards that he neither asked for help nor was it offered, but she just hopped in to assist anyway. It was appreciated anyway, and he rubbed the top of her head with a wet hand, making her stick out her tongue and ruffle her hair back into a more moppish state.

Sans would need to keep a fully stocked pantry if he wanted to make sure that the little one didn’t have to go on any more…  _ nighttime outings _ . Granted, he wasn’t too bothered if some of the people she drained just so happened to be those Guardians of Humanity psychopaths. A few less murderous supremacists to go around couldn’t be all that bad. And she was certainly stealthy, able to kill off an entire group of them with her bare hands before they could even get a shot off. But still, the idea of cold blooded murder didn’t sit right with him. But what if it was for a good reason? Like keeping the kid fed? It wasn’t as if Sans ever went out  _ looking _ for a fight. Even when he had to do a…  _ job _ , he did it as best he could. He tried to avoid undue bloodshed whenever possible, did his best to prevent any more people from being roughed up or dealt with than necessary. He wasn’t a  _ bad _ person for that, right?

.... Right?

Sans was on his fourth beer at this point, then his fifth, his head finally starting to swim a little. He wasn’t going to get into those old mental gymnastics again. He’d already spent many, many nights unsure of himself, afraid of himself, despising himself. So he just blamed the beer. Usually it kicked in much sooner, he didn’t go for any of that cheap human swill. Monster booze hit faster and stronger, it was just better all around, even if it was a bit more pricey. It was worth it. Any alcoholic worth their salt could have said as much.

So  _ why  _ was it taking so long to get drunk?

He scolded himself in a mental tone that sounded just a little bit too much like his brother. He was supposed to be talking to the kid, finding things out from her, not getting plastered off his worthless bony ass.

  
  


“C’mon, kid,” Sans dropped into the worn out recliner, not bothering to take off his jacket even now. Besides, it was warm and comfortable, and he was lazy. Frisk followed him into the lit living room and followed his pointing to the couch, where she clambered up wordlessly and crossed her legs underneath her. It took him a moment to realize that she was still hanging onto that children’s book. It made his soul ache for some reason, even though he didn’t immediately know why.

“... We gotta talk,” Sans rubbed the side of his head with the cool bottle, massaging his temple.

“About what?” Frisk asked curiously, tilting side to side and fidgeting.

“Lots of stuff,” Sans leaned back into his chair. “It’s gonna be a while, so get comfortable.”

“Is there any more food?”

“You’re  _ still  _ hungry?” he stared, and Frisk only nodded a few times. He sighed through his nostril bone, frowning slightly.

“Is there any more of that chocolate stuff from Mister Grillby?” they pried hopefully.

“Uh, ‘fraid not,” he shook his head, and they almost deflated a little. That predatory,  _ ravenous _ look flashed through her eyes in a dart of crimson, but only for a moment. Sans noticed that her hands were trembling and she squeezed them together, closing her eyes for a few seconds before giving a small, thin smile back at him and nodding once.

“I need to feed soon,” Frisk stated in a very soft, patient, careful tone. Sans felt as if his marrow had just started flowing cold, his very soul prickling. “Very soon, Mister Sans. I can’t wait much longer.”

“... Just one more thing we gotta talk ‘bout,” he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, holding the bottle between his phalanges. “You, uh… mind explainin’ that to me, kid?”

“You already know, don’t you?” she asked in that tilted, sad expression, like she was trying her hardest to smile and her whole body was fighting against it. “You’ve seen it before.”

“Yeah,” he admitted uncomfortably, “But uhh… like, shit…,” this was not a conversation that Sans ever pictured himself having and as such didn’t have any idea how to proceed, “Well… how long can ya go b’fore ya gotta… y’know… bite.” It didn’t escape him that Frisk’s expression had begun to chill, it was like some… some vital part of her was being disconnected, leaving just this hollow shell behind. The little girl gave an awkward shrug, eyes not meeting his, rather staring at a random spot in front of herself, as if trying to bore a hole into the carpet.

“Sometimes, lots of days,” she more mumbled rather than spoke at this point, as if ashamed. “I made it a whole week one time. It… it got pretty bad.”

Sans didn’t ask for specifics. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to know.

But, of course, he was Sans Skeleton.

He  _ always _ had to know.

“What happened?” he asked after a half minute of silence. Frisk closed her eyes and breathed out through her nose, like she was trying to steady herself.

“I… I only feed when I have to,” Frisk began cautiously, quietly, still not looking at him. “Only then. Only bad people. The sewer only had rats and they’re yucky, so I would come out when I had to some nights. There’s lots more bad people out at night,” she explained as if it were obvious, “But… that night I was really, really hungry, and...the next day, I wasn’t.” Sans had seen how she could damn-near vacuum up his entire pantry and fridge if he let her, he also vaguely remembered a few weeks back that there was some story about a huge bloody mess at the city’s edge. People said that it was a wild animal attack that tore apart a bunch of folks, there was no way it could be anything else.

It was pretty easy to put two and two together.

“How… how  _ much _ do ya need to eat?” Sans asked uneasily, distracting himself with finishing off his beer. His hands were trembling and the booze wasn’t helping much. He drained it completely and put the bottle down on the wobbly coffee table with a  _ clink _ , the sound much too loud in the quiet room.

“Depends. Sometimes, a little. Sometimes… a bunch. If I have done a lot of stuff, or haven’t fed for a while… it’s a lot.”

He decided then and there that he was still far, _ far _ too sober for this.

Sans got up wordlessly and went to the kitchen, fumbling for the light switch before recalling that it was no use. He pulled open the ice box and started to close it and got a jolt of surprise when he turned around to find Frisk standing directly behind him. He clutched his chest and breathed a quick sigh of relief.

“Christ, gonna have ta put a bell on you,” he said in a half joking tone, but he wasn’t entirely against the idea either. At least he would be able to hear them coming next time and hopefully he wouldn’t wind up jumping a foot in the air again.

“Buzzy soda?” Frisk nodded to the beer he pulled from the refrigerator.

“You can’t have any,” he said instantly, and instead of pouting like she did earlier, she just stared at him. And stared. And stared.

It took him a moment to realize that her eyes hadn’t been that comforting chocolate color for a while now.

“You can have  _ one, _ ” Sans pressed it into her hand, and she nodded. Frisk blinked and her eyes were cocoa brown again, a small smile on her face. She turned on the spot and waved for him to follow her back to the living room, and all of a sudden it was him feeling like he was being pulled on a leash. He grumbled to himself and dropped into his recliner again, the worn chair calling to him silently. He popped the top on the beer and took a long, unsteady drink, glancing over to Frisk who was chugging heavily from the bottle. She had downed half of it in a manner of seconds, pulling it away and gasping for breath, tilting woozily side to side and blinking one eye at a time.

“Not any more a that cheap human shit,” Sans toasted her with a cocked brow bone. “Monster owned brewery. Best in Under City. At least, best for the price,” he snorted and took another drink, finally,  _ finally _ starting to feel the effects. It still bothered him that it took so many more than usual to actually feel the booze kicking in. Was he building up some kind of resistance? Was he developing an immunity to alcohol, as terrifying as that sounded? Good lord, he hoped not. If so, he was going to be spending a  _ lot _ more on heavier drinks, and he didn’t like the idea at all.

“A’ight,” Sans leaned back in his recliner, eye sockets half lidded but he was fully focused, in between drunkenness and alertness. “Some other things we gotta talk ‘bout. These weird ass powers of yours,” he nodded to her, and she blinked, holding her drink in both hands and turning it around and around in her grasp. “So, is it actually magic?”   
“I dunno,” Frisk took another sip and shivered, sticking out her tongue before trying to wash down the taste with another drink. “I don’t know if any of what I do is magic. So… maybe?” she shrugged.

“Helpful,” he retorted sarcastically and she frowned uncomfortably. “So, I’m guessin’ you don’t know anythin’ about how you do what ya do?”

“I know I get hungry,” Frisk said after a little bit. “When I’m too hungry, I can’t do anything, not even little things, even if I really want to.”

“So it’s feeding based, kinda surmised as much previously,” he mused aloud.

Frisk bobbled her head a bit, shifting in her spot, her expression speculative as she worked something over in her mind.

“It… when I want to do stuff, I have to think really hard ‘bout it, b’lieve I can do it, and then… I do it. Or don’t, sometimes because I can’t, sometimes cause I’m too hungry.”

“When you’re hungry…” Sans was pushing too much and he knew it, but his own morbid curiosity refused to be quieted. “You ever…  _ feed _ on a monster?”

Frisk responded by closing her eyes and chugging the rest of the beer, all in one go. Sans closed his eye sockets for a moment and let out a quiet breath through his nostril bone. He started to speak again before he realized that she was silently crying. Sans  _ immediately _ kicked himself, regretting every decision that had led him to ever opening his stupid mouth, and before he knew it he was sitting on the couch next to her, arm draped over her shoulder and pulling her into the softest bony hug that he could manage.

“I didn’t mean to,” Frisk hiccuped miserably, sobbing into her hands, bottle having fallen to the floor. “I d-didn’t  _ mean _ to, I didn’t  _ want _ to, he j-just kept  _ smiling _ I’m so  _ sorry _ -”

“Shhh, hey, heyyyyy now,” he was drunk and she was drunk and he  _ knew _ that he had fucked up this whole situation worse than it was before, the only good thing to do - the only  _ right _ thing to do was to try to fix it, not blame them. “I know, I know,” he stroked her hair as she cried and clung to him, wrapping her arms around his stomach and desperately burying her face in his chest. He didn’t know what to do when a child was sobbing in pain and holding onto him like a lifeline, he didn’t know how he was supposed to talk her through drunken hysterics that were all his fault, he didn’t know the first  _ thing  _ about being a decent person for someone who needed him to be.

But dammit all, he was going to  _ try _ .

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

Sans was hungry, no...  _ RAVENOUS _ , the choco-late was really yummy, and so was the buzzy soda, but they didn’t stop the hunger that gnawed at his insides, the itching in his mouth. He stood and glanced at the Nice Mister Skeleton, who was asleep in a chair, and slowly approached, leaning up to give a little chaste peck on the cheek then turning away. His face was hot and he felt so embarrassed, yet so excited, Nice Mister Skeleton had been so kind, given food and a place to sleep and clothes; way better than The Smiling Man. Mmm… clothes… he looked down at his purple and blue striped sweater and trousers… these were all he had,  _ couldn’t  _ afford to let them get dirty. 

With a wiggle and a quiet grunt, he slipped out of them both, leaving them on the couch in a pile, it would be okay, Nice Mister Skeleton didn’t wake up until the sun came up. His little hands reached out and gently pried one of the windows opening, and with practiced ease, he jumped out of the window, landing gently on the guardrailing of the balcony below. 

_ Hungry. _

His eyes pulsed as he focused, the world taking on a faint reddish hue, as he looked around slowly, watching for potential targets, human bodies throbbing with red light that spread out from the center of their chests, while monsters just had this pale grey aura. 

_ Hungry. _

It was quite impossible to mistake the two, fortunately. He would never, ever make that mistake, not ever again.

_ So hungry. _

He grunted again as he jumped, all but floating down towards the ground, landing on the grass silently, then springing again, scrambling up a light pole and then bouncing across them to reach his old hunting grounds. 

They were about five minutes away at a fast but steady pace, but smelled so bad, probably because the sewer plant was right nearby. He alighted on the crumbling roof of a building where they built things, peering down at the gloom.

Lots of gray, but it was only a matter of time before someone showed up; they always did, and he was very good at being patient. He prowled along the rooftops like a cat, moving on all fours and bounding from roof to roof, the only sign of his passing being the slight rush of air as he leaped, nary making a sound when he landed, just like Smiling Man taught him to. 

A screech caught his attention, it wasn’t a human or monster one, but one of those giant wheeled beetles, an actual  _ car _ , it had pulled into the big lot in front of the building he was crouching on. His sharp hearing could hear cries of despair and fear, then one of the doors opened and an aging human man was thrown out. His Red was spilling on the ground, while that spot in his chest was pulsating very fast, making the rest of his Red swell, it looked delicious but he forced himself to look away. 

No, the ones he wanted were the others who were disembarking, the bigger guys, younger and stronger with far more Red, their centers calmly pulsating, as if they had done this before, which they more than likely had. Much more Red. Pulsing. Calling. Fresh.

_ Hungry. _

“Goddamnitt Johnny,” One in nice clothes said, this one didn’t have a gun, while the other two did, though he didn’t recognize them, the scary men that worked with Smiling Man always had guns but not like these, “You really screwed the pooch on this one, didn’cha?” the talking man sounded resigned, perhaps annoyed, like it had rained when he wanted to go play outside. The older man was shaking and crawled backwards, leaving a trail of Red that was running from the side of his head.

Sans licked his lips, he could already feel his fangs swelling in his mouth, growing down and razor sharp, eager to puncture skin so he could feed. 

“I swear Tommy, I swear, I didn’ tell no one, I jus’ wanted out, that’s  _ all _ !” The scared man cried out, pleading with the younger talking man. 

“Oh I know, but here’s the thing… there’s only  _ one  _ way outta this life, Jonny boy.” Suddenly the other two men fired their guns, making Sans jump in surprise, the old man jerking about as his Red was sprayed across the ground and wall behind him, then slumped backwards, the center of his chest now still.

Stupid, stupid! He could have saved him! What a waste. But he hesitated… well, at least Sans could stop the Bad Men, they wouldn’t hurt anyone else. They were talking again, in bored and disinterested tones as Sans lowered himself on his hands and feet, his tongue rubbing across his lips and eyes burning brighter and brighter. 

_ So close now. _

_ Hungry. _

And he pounced, the talky guy was first, Sans slamming into his chest, fingers sinking into the flesh while the ribs popped like old twigs. He gurgled in pain and shock, his body jerking a few times, Sans had gotten a wonderful taste of that delicious Red when it splashed onto his face, but he had to take care of the other two, so he could feed in safety. Springboarding off of Talky Man, he flew at the Bald gun guy, who fired wildly as Sans hurdled towards him. The skeleton felt a hot burning  _ pain  _ lance through his hip, side and shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground and rolling a few times; okay, now he was MAD!

“It’s a kid!” Hat gun guy yelled, “What the  _ fuck!  _ It’s a fuckin’ naked li’l girl!” Sans hissed and ran again, staying on all fours as it was harder to hit him like this, he zigzagged to dodge their gunfire and this time his jump found his target, smashing into Bald. But, Sans was surprised when more pain erupted in his gut and chest, Hat had begun to fire into the back of Bald, hoping to kill them both. He fired again and again and again, the flashes of light and pain only growing more annoying. Sans snarled, willing his pain to go away, and his flesh and muscle began to knit. Hat pulled the trigger again, Sans flinched involuntarily but no fire came out of the end of his gun, just a solemn clicking noise. 

Sans smiled and leaped, landing right on Hat who screamed and tried to force him off, but Sans refused to move, he could smell Hat’s Red, he could see it throbbing in his neck and he  _ needed  _ it so badly. There wasn’t even a hint of shame as Sans bit in, and tasted that delightful Red filling his mouth. He missed this so much, he craved it constantly, he  _ needed  _ it, that wonderful rush of delicious euphoria, a high like no other and without compare, he  _ lived  _ for this. The Bad Hat Man struggled more, punching and clawing but Sans barely noticed as he continued to drink, knowing that eventually the flailing would stop.

It did.

There was some Red left in Hat, but it would have been too much work to get it out, and Sans was still hungry, a huffing noise caught his attention, and so Sans deftly leaped up onto the car’s front and peered down, Talky was trying to drag himself away, but his legs were limp and unmoving, wonder why.

“Freak!” he yelled at Sans, his voice cracking, “Monster!” Sans smiled, monster? He liked that, being a monster wouldn’t be that bad, would it? It was better than a freak, but that would have to be something he asked Mister Nice Skeleton about later. Sans’s lips peeled back into a grin, revealing the gleaming fangs, and he jumped again. 

Tonight was a good night.

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


Sans sat bolt upright, blearily slapping his face a couple of times with shaking hands. He was trembling furiously and sweating bullets from the last dream, and he took a long few moments to cover his eye sockets with his palms and took in a long, unsteady breath, his mind still reeling.

Damn. That last one had been a  _ doozy _ .

Normally his dreams were chaotic at best, brief flashes of fears or memories or even the Old Days, but this time was quite a bit different. He could still recall that nightmare quite vividly, it had felt so  _ real _ , but it left his head swimming as if he’d downed an entire jug of Grillby’s hard cider. It was a bizarre sensation, as if he were trying to recall just who he was, and what really got to him, what truly frightened him badly, was that at first he just  _ wasn’t sure _ .

_ Sans. _

It rang in his head like an alarm and he ran his hands down his face, clutching at his eye sockets and pulling nervously. He hadn’t had a nervous break like that in a long time. Though that was probably because of all the booze from last night. He shouldn’t have chugged them all one after another, that was stupid. And was he really dumb enough to have let Frisk drink? Damn it all, what was he thinking? Had he been thinking at  _ all _ ? He mentally kicked himself as he blinked himself awake, now much more alert. That dream must have really gotten to him, he thought numbly to himself, because he was still shaking a little even as he started to rise from bed.

Except, he wasn’t in bed.

He blinked again, having forgotten that he had passed out with the crying girl on the couch. And the weird lump tangled up in the linen cloth draped lazily over him wasn’t Frisk.

It was just her clothes.

_ Just like the dream. _

Sans felt his soul itself flinch, his eye sockets widening. But that was impossible, that wasn’t even physically  _ feasible _ , right? It had to be some kind of joke or misunderstanding. Yeah. That was it. She must have left her clothes there and gone to take a bath or something. His head perked up when he actually heard the sound of running water in the adjoining room, and the immense  _ relief _ he felt was almost overwhelming. He ran a still trembling hand over his head, letting out a weak bark of a laugh. Right. Right, of course, of  _ course _ it was just a silly dream. After all, Sans wasn’t the type of person to take all his clothes off, throw himself out a window and eat people, that was just downright  _ crazy _ . Thank god it was just a big misunderstanding, he must have still been half asleep and was making insane connections when there weren’t any there. Sans stood and yawned, stretching as he picked up the kid’s clothes and carried them with him. She’d probably be happy to have those back when she got out of the bath. He should really make sure to pick them up some decent clothes that weren’t dug out of a donation bin, something that actually fit her properly. He’d have to find something with stripes of course, but that wasn’t such a big deal, he just wondered what kind of colored clothes she’d prefer. He wanted to ask her but at the same time thought it a nice idea to make it a little surprise for her.

Sans knocked on the bathroom door, the sound of running bath water growing louder when he leaned his head against the warped wood. There was no answer at all, which he found a little odd. Did the kid even know where the towels were? Then again, she was a pretty bright girl, she could probably figure it out, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing one from the linen closet and returning with it and their discarded articles.

“Kid?” Sans knocked on the door again, a bit louder this time. “Ya in there? You left yer stuff out here,” he reached for the doorknob and found it unlocked. A rush of steam rolled over his head as he opened the door, holding the clothes out in front of him. “Seriously pal, ya can’t just run around nak-”

Sans felt his marrow freeze in his bones.

Frisk was sitting on the edge of the claw footed bathtub, coated almost head to toe in splotches of half dried blood.

_ The dream. _

_ No no no no no oh god please no. _

“Frisk?” Sans’s voice came out in a rough whisper, not daring himself to really speak. Her red eyes widened and her lips pursed tightly, gaze flickering across his face with an unreadable expression.

“Ah,” she said simply, holding a knife in one hand and a pair of bullets in her open palm. “You’re… awake. Already,” Frisk was trying very hard to sound casual, and Sans was trying very hard not to scream.

“... Yep,” he answered after a moment, shakily holding up their clothes and a towel. “Brought ya these. Why’d ya leave yer clothes, kid?”   
“I… didn’t want them to get dirty,” she looked away from him, and for some strange reason, he almost felt as if he  _ knew _ what the answer was going to be before she said it, like a terrible dejavu.

“You’re hurt,” it seemed to hit him all at once, she was covered almost completely in blood, of  _ course _ she was hurt; but she just shook her head when he started to approach, giving him one of those tilted, patient little smiles.

“I’m okay, Mister Sans!” Frisk insisted. “I just have to get out one more and then I’ll be  _ fine _ , okay?”

Frisk was talking like she was getting a haircut, not getting a  _ bullet _ out of her  _ body. _

“Like fuckin’  _ hell _ you’re fine,” Sans growled, and she actually flinched at the sound. Even when he tried to sound intimidating she was never scared of him, what had  _ happened _ ?

Actually, if that ‘dream’ was anything to go by, he had a pretty good idea of what had happened. Sans wanted to be sick.

“Where’s the bullet,” he gently pulled the knife from her hand, and she let him take it. She was strong enough that, if she didn’t  _ want _ him to take it, then he wouldn’t get it. It must have taken a remarkable amount of trust for her to allow him to do what he was about to do, and it was clear from the worried look in her eyes that she knew exactly what was about to happen.

“... Shoulder,” Frisk murmured after a moment, glancing away. “Couldn’t get that one out.”   
Sans inspected her blood coated shoulder, and grabbed a spare handcloth to clean up some of the gore, but there was no identifiable wound at all.

“... Fuck,” he blinked, the realization sinking in. “You had to  _ cut _ them all out, didn’t you?”

Frisk didn’t answer aloud, but she did nod solemnly.

Sans sighed and had her use her finger to pinpoint exactly where the bullet was in her shoulder, and kept his phalanges gently atop right where they needed to be. Sans started to put the knife to her shoulder and she whimpered, hands clenched tightly. He pulled away and she dropped the other bullets on the floor, his concern only growing. 

“Fuck,” he was shaking at this point. “This must’a hurt like hell tryin’ to get out, huh?”

“A lot,” Frisk nodded once, still not looking at him.

“Stay right here,” Sans left with the knife, slipping out the door. He made his way to the kitchen as swiftly as he could, grabbed what he needed and returned to Frisk, who hadn’t budged an inch. He closed the door behind himself and took a long, heavy drink from the bottle, the effects slamming him much faster than he was expecting, which was very much wanted. Frisk blinked in surprise when he pressed the bottle into her hands.

“Drink,” he instructed, and she obeyed without question. Frisk chugged and promptly choked on the whiskey, coughing and sputtering as she pulled the bottle away from her lips. Sans started to ask if she was alright but she promptly put it back to her mouth and started chugging as hard as she could, bubbles drifting through the amber liquid like an alcohol dancer. She went through half the bottle in a matter of seconds and he had to gently pull the bottle away from her, and she woozily leaned back and forth on the edge of the tub. He put the whiskey on the sink counter and rolled up a cloth he’d grabbed, putting it in Frisk’s hands.

“Blech.”

“Heh. Yeah. You’re gonna wanna bite this,” he told her, trying to distract her with information, knowing full well how badly most humans took impromptu surgery. But then again, she wasn’t exactly human. A fearful worry speared through him, leaving him wondering just how many times this poor girl must have had to do this, and all on her own. “So ya don’t bite yer tongue off. A’ight?”

“A’ight,” Frisk nodded once, following his directions and putting the cloth in her mouth. She bit down on it slowly and Sans carefully began to wash off the knife with hot water, using a little bit of magic as well. Not that monster magic was good for much aside from little things, but at least he could clean the knife a small amount better and hopefully prevent an infection. Sans told her to close her eyes in a quiet tone and she did, shivering a little despite the heat in the room. He acted as carefully and cautiously as he possibly could, making sure not to miss his mark.

And of course,  _ that _ was when the flashing in his eye socket decided to come back.

Sans grunted and tried not to shake from the sensation, his left eye socket just a blur of blue and yellow. It took all of his concentration just to stay vertical for a few seconds, why did it have to choose  _ now  _ to act up? That Grunt of Hubris must have  _ really _ busted something up when he knocked him in the head, but he could figure it out later. Half blinded and drunk was  _ not _ a good way to be performing surgery, but Sans would kill for this kid if he had to. So he focused and created a small incision, using another small knife he’d grabbed and thankfully finding the bullet not too far in. Frisk whimpered and whined in pain and his soul went out to them, he only wanted to ease their pain, not make it worse.

“Almost got it, baby,” Sans tried to keep them as calm as he could. “Don’t move for me. M’kay? You’re doin’ great. We’re almost there, you’re doin’ so good baby girl.”

Sans  _ finally _ managed to get the bullet free from her tendon, and watched in amazement as flesh and skin and sinew just  _ slithered _ back together in a matter of seconds. It was horrifying and fascinating all at once, but it wasn’t out yet. He had to cut the bullet free from her yet again as her body tried to, seemingly,  _ absorb _ the bullet back into it as he was getting it out. Frisk was shaking and crying silently by the time he finally got it completely out, and he dropped the bloodied bullet onto the sink counter and let out a weary breath. He put down the knives in the sink and removed the cloth from her mouth, she hardly seemed to register what was happening for a long moment, but she finally gave a quivering little smile and patted him on the shoulder.

“S-see?” Frisk said softly. “Told you. I’m fine.”

It was almost funny, how  _ she _ was the one trying to reassure  _ him _ . This whole scenario was seven shades of fucked.

“You’re some kinda special, kid,” Sans kissed the top of her head, one of the very few parts of her that wasn’t coated in blood. “You’re so strong, I am so  _ proud _ of you.”

Surprisingly, her eyes started to water at this, her smile shaking and tilting as she hugged him tightly. Sans wrapped his arms around her and hugged her back, rocking her back and forth. They just sat there in silence for a long, long while.

Sans had little trouble giving her a bath, it was just like giving Papyrus a bath when he was a babybones.

What did give him some trouble was considering just how she’d survived taking several point blank shots from a magnum and then made it all the way home. And she hadn’t made a single noise in the process. Frisk could have easily come to him for help, and he would have dropped everything to do so. It frightened him just how quickly he was getting attached. But the fact that she tried so hard to take care of it all on her own, it reminded him strongly of someone. It made his soul swell. She really was incredibly resilient, more so than just about anyone he had ever met. 

Sans made a silent but stalwart promise to himself, then and there.

He was never abandoning her or leaving her on her own.

Not even when she had to feed.

Not ever again.

  
  


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**Author's Note:**

> Note from Licorice: Partially inspired by Code Vein but not an actual crossover or fusion.
> 
> Note from Aku: We know it's not Halloween yet, but why not have some good old fashioned horror elements anyway? c:  
> Just a little side project Licorice and I are doing, we'll see how it goes.


End file.
